


The Dogs of War

by verhalen



Series: A New Dawn [1]
Category: Multi-Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Acts of Kindness, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Attraction, BAMF Dooku, Car Accidents, Christmas, Developing Friendships, Domestic Violence, Dooku Is Bad At Feelings, Dooku Loves Cats, Dying whale noises, Elves Reborn As Mortal, Enemies to Friends, Feelings Realization, Guest Appearance By Maglor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Injury Recovery, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Older Man/Younger Man, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Dooku, Rated For Violence, UST Like Whoa, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Verbal Abuse, Vigilantism, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: It is late 2016. Nicolae Dooku is a professor of ancient history and has routines that help him relax from the school day.  His next-door neighbor, Sören Sigurdsson - a fellow professor - seems to have made a career out of disrupting those routines. Dooku can'tstandhim.  Then Dooku finds out Sören's boyfriend Seth is abusing him, and some of Sören's attitude can be attributed to the constant stress. Dooku intervenes, and reaches out.Currently unbeknownst to both of them, their initial conflict is ancient... as well as their developing bond.  (Later in theNew Dawnseries, this will be revisited.)





	1. Drop It Like It's Hot

**Drop It Like It's Hot**

**September 2016**  
_Corvallis, Oregon_  
  
  
It was the end of the second week of school at Oregon State University, where Nicolae Dooku taught as a professor of ancient history. He liked his job, but the beginning of the school year was always a bit hectic, and Dooku was looking forward to relaxing with a nice home-cooked meal, a glass or two of red wine, and watching opera. His tastes in music gravitated towards classical, opera, classic rock and heavy metal. He had the classical music station on now as he worked in the kitchen, having his first glass of wine.  
  
And then, there it was. At least once a week, Dooku's next-door neighbor Sören Sigurdsson - a man in his early thirties, who taught studio art at the university - could be counted on to drive into their cul-de-sac playing rap music on full blast. It wasn't simply that Sören played rap music on full blast, but he had a souped-up soundsystem on his car where the bass shook his house.  
  
_When the pimp's in the crib ma  
Drop it like it's hot  
Drop it like it's hot  
Drop it like it's hot  
When the pigs try to get at you  
Park it like it's hot  
Park it like it's hot  
Park it like it's hot  
And if a n**** get a attitude  
Pop it like it's hot  
Pop it like it's hot  
Pop it like it's hot  
I got the Rolly on my arm and I'm pouring Chandon  
And I roll the best weed cause I got it going on_  
  
Dooku put down his glass of wine and pinched the bridge of his nose. Most of the time it was a brief endurance - annoying to be sure, but not lasting more than a few minutes, once Sören was parked. Today it sounded like Sören was parked _and_ still had his soundsystem going in his car.  
  
And it was enough that Dooku could hear it over his own music. Drowning out Mozart. Dooku finally came out as the song was coming to a close - a clicked tongue and a call of "Snooooooooooooop", which seemed fairly idiotic.  
  
Sören drove a neon green Mitsubishi Lancer with a spoiler on the boot. Just the man's car was obnoxious, an ostentatious display of someone who had newly come into money, probably seeing a teacher's income as lavish compared to whatever he'd grown up with back in Iceland. As Dooku came out, he saw Sören had the trunk of his car open and was unloading groceries... while he still had the stereo on. The bass thumped even more outside. The song changed to another Snoop Dogg track.  
  
_I was chilling right around my way  
21st Eastside at the beach  
This motherfucker ran up on me  
Talking shit with his homies  
Like he was a straight G!  
  
Asking where I'm from while he running up  
Gangbang my set on everyone of them  
Some things, sons they just won't change  
Fools don't respect nothing but the gangbang_  
  
Sören was continuing to transport his bags of groceries from the trunk to the welcome mat of the front door of his house. Dooku folded his arms, and Sören didn't even look at him in acknowledgment. Finally Dooku cleared his throat and said "_Excuse me._" Sören's soundsystem was loud, but Dooku could project his bass voice, and it did catch Sören's attention.  
  
Sören stopped in his tracks. His body language got defensive, but Sören was six feet tall and of a slim, willowy build. Dooku was close to six-five and while lean, he was muscular and powerful - the sixty-seven year old took care of himself, with regular trips to the gym, membership at a sport fencing club.  
  
Sören finally said, simply, "What."  
  
The surly expression on his face would have been sexy if the man wasn't such a nuisance. Sören had nape-length curly dark hair, a beard and mustache, heavy-lidded dark eyes with long lashes that usually were behind glasses, and full, pouty lips. He also had those ridiculous gauge plugs in his earlobes that the kids wore these days, though Sören's weren't stretched very much. Today Sören was wearing khakis and a cardigan vest over a button-down shirt, a preppy look - apart from the Doc Martens boots he always wore - and about as casual as he could get away with at the university. He did not look like the sort of person who listened to Snoop Dogg, but there it was, thumping away in his car.  
  
Dooku wore a suit and tie every day to work, wanting to look professional. Now at home, he was relaxing in pajamas and a bathrobe. That he'd actually stepped foot outside his house in his pajamas and robe said a lot about how much he'd been disturbed.  
  
"What do you mean what." Even after decades in the States, Dooku still had a London accent, and his enunciation was especially crisp now in his annoyance. "Is it bloody _necessary_ for you to have that noise on?" Dooku asked.  
  
"Do you ever listen to music when you work out?" Sören was soft-spoken, a deep, smoky voice with a lilting, breathy Icelandic accent. That, too, would have been sexy if he weren't such a nuisance.  
  
"That... that's not relevant." Dooku rubbed his beard, caught a bit off-guard.  
  
"Yes, it is." Sören picked up the last bag of groceries from his trunk. "I've had a long day. I'm exhausted. Like someone listening to music when they work out, I needed a little jolt to be able to take care of business here."  
  
"Well, Professor Sigurdsson, next time you need a little jolt, have a care that there are people in this neighborhood who... don't."  
  
"It was just a few minutes. It's well before 9 PM. You'll live." Sören turned off his car.  
  
"Surviving and living are two different things, Professor Sigurdsson. You rather interrupted the latter with this... I won't call it music."  
  
Sören grinned, showing his teeth. It was not a pleasant grin. It was predatory. "Well, you'll get over it, anyhow."  
  
With that Sören turned on his heel, carrying his groceries to the door. Dooku thought he saw Sören wheezing a little, as if just that bit of exertion was almost too much for him. Sören put the bag down and fumbled with his keys, and started coughing. Dooku watched Sören pull out an inhaler and take a puff, and then Sören opened the door. After he brought his first bag in, Sören looked over his shoulder to see Dooku was still watching him and he said, "Wow, don't you have something better to do than watch me take in groceries? You need to get a hobby."  
  
Dooku's face burned. He didn't know why he was still even looking at the man, he ought to get back to his cooking. His nostrils flared and he said coldly, "Goodnight, Professor Sigurdsson."  
  
"Whatever," Sören muttered under his breath.  
  
_Whatever._ For some reason that flippant response annoyed him just as much as the obnoxious rap music, if not more. Dooku slammed the door as he got inside.  
  
It alarmed his cat, Beowulf. The elderly cat was given to sleeping a lot now, and Dooku felt a bit bad for disturbing the cat from his rest. As Beowulf hobbled to the kitchen to his food bowl, Dooku decided he'd reserve the giblets from the chicken he was roasting and make Beowulf a little treat.  
  
As dinner cooked and Dooku checked his e-mail, he heard another car drive down the street, also playing music loudly - some sort of 90s alt-rock - but not as loudly as Sören's earlier choice of music. The car pulled in front of Sören's house; Dooku knew this was Seth, Sören's boyfriend. He felt another stab of annoyance - a reminder that he was very much alone in this world. Like Sören, Dooku himself preferred men, but unlike Sören, Dooku was the product of an earlier generation that had been rather conservative about the subject and he'd been closeted and wary of anything that would breach that closet until he was of an age where it seemed rather too late to come out and try to find a partner.  
  
So it was he and his cat tonight, as it was every night. And though the earlier interruption hadn't been all that long or even that awful in the grand scheme of things - _people are dying,_ Dooku scolded himself at how much he was getting worked up over something so small - it also felt like a microcosm of what was wrong with his entire life. _Too old, too set in my ways, does not play well with others._ Dooku sighed.  
  
"At least you like me," Dooku said, petting the cat.


	2. Tea Is Serious Business

**Tea Is Serious Business**

  
  
  
  
It was the weekend. Dooku had a small garden in his backyard, and he took advantage of it being a sunny, temperate afternoon to harvest what was ripe and ready - kale, spinach, beets, broccoli. He wore khakis to work in the garden, and though he was a physically active senior he had a touch of arthritis, his knees twinging as he was down on his hands and knees pulling up the yield.  
  
Even with the occasional bit of pain, it was still relaxing to him to be out here in his little piece of paradise, hands and bare feet in the earth. He came from old money - his family had been counts in Romania, he'd seen what had once been his ancestral land on a trip overseas years ago. Though they had been wealthy landowners and had help, his family had been proud and insisted on doing work themselves as well, feeling that working the land built character and was good for one's health. Even in London, his mother kept a garden, and though Dooku didn't otherwise think much of his family, having endured verbal and physical abuse as a child, the connection to land was something that stayed with him. Something strangely comforting about the dirt, the green, the smell of fresh earth, the smell of leafy greens.  
  
He was in the zone mentally. It felt good.  
  
And of course, it had to be ruined. Dooku heard music next door. He swore under his breath. He filled his first basket of produce, wiped his feet and took it in through the back door to sit on the kitchen counter, then came back out. Sören Sigurdsson was sitting in a chair in his backyard, reading, with a portable stereo playing that infernal rap music.  
  
_Well I'm peepin', and I'm creepin', and I'm creep-in'  
But I damn near got caught, 'cause my beeper kept beepin'  
Now it's time for me to make my impression felt  
So sit back, relax, and strap on your seatbelt  
You never been on a ride like this before  
With a producer who can rap and control the maestro  
At the same time with the dope rhyme that I kick  
You know, and I know, I flow some ol' funky shit  
To add to my collection, the selection  
Symbolizes dope, take a toke, but don't choke  
If you do, you'll have no clue  
On what me and my homey Snoop Dogg came to do  
  
It's like this and like that and like this and uh  
It's like that and like this and like that and uh  
It's like this  
And who gives a fuck about those?  
So just chill, 'til the next episode_  
  
Sören had a pitcher of some dark-colored liquid with ice cubes floating in it, on a small table next to his chair. He poured himself a glass.  
  
Dooku narrowed his eyes. The music wasn't particularly loud, especially compared to Sören's car stereo the other day, but Dooku could still hear it, and hearing it at all was not what he wanted out of his Sunday afternoon.  
  
Dooku tried to ignore it, getting back on his hands and knees in the dirt, working on filling his second basket. Trying to re-immerse himself in the experience, bringing leaves to his nose to breathe deeply before putting them in the basket. But try as he might, the music was putting him on edge. Dooku didn't know how anyone could find that _relaxing_, looking as Sören did calmly reading a book, sipping whatever that beverage was.  
  
Finally Dooku picked up his basket, brushed himself off, and stood there for a moment, glaring. Sören glanced up from his book as if he could feel Dooku's eyes on him, then he rolled his eyes and went back to reading. That little eyeroll made something snap inside Dooku's brain and he loudly cleared his throat.  
  
Sören's eyebrows raised. He put his book down.  
  
"Your music is bothering me," Dooku said.  
  
"It isn't even that loud," Sören said.  
  
"It's still obnoxious."  
  
Sören slammed his book down on the table next to him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, man. I don't know what to tell you. It's broad daylight on a weekend. I'm not violating any laws. I pay good money every month to rent this place because it has a yard, so I can do things like come outside when it's nice, _chill the fuck out_ after a long week. I really don't want to get into an argument with you, I just came out here to read my book, drink my iced tea -"  
  
"Your _what._" Dooku cringed. "That..."  
  
"You heard me. Iced tea?"  
  
"That... _that's not tea._" Dooku couldn't help the outburst, horrified. "You don't put ice in it..."  
  
"Ice and lots of sugar. It's delicious, you should try it."  
  
"_That's not tea._ That's some... barbarian... concept of tea."  
  
Sören chuckled. He shook his glass, making the ice cubes rattle, and took a sip. "Can't insult me by calling me a barbarian, my ancestors were Vikings."  
  
"My point still stands. It's bad enough you listen to awful music, but you also _ruin tea._ What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed. Then he glared daggers. "You seem to be way, way too interested in what I'm doing as of late. Why don't you get a hobby?" He sneered. "Oh right. It isn't time for you to be Mall Santa yet."  
  
Dooku wasn't even fat. It was a cheap shot, and Dooku wasn't going to stand here and let this insolent brat keep insulting him. "I am not going to even dignify that with a response." He sniffed, and turned on his heel to go back inside.  
  
As he washed his hands, he tried to tell himself to not let that man get under his skin. _You shouldn't be this worked up._ That infuriatingly _attractive_ man, with his noise and his ruined tea. Of all the people to move in next door to him, it had to be _that_. Sören had always been annoying, but lately it seemed moreso. _Or maybe I really do need to find something to do._  
  
Dooku growled, washing the freshly harvested broccoli, some of which he'd use over the coming days, some of which he'd freeze. "Bloody... sodding..." He scrubbed at the produce like he was trying to scrub sense into that man's face. His lovely, sullen face.  
  
"Damn you to the Hells, Sören Sigurdsson," Dooku muttered.


	3. In A Gadda Da Vida

**In A Gadda Da Vida**

The following weekend, Dooku was in his garden again harvesting - this time snap beans, carrots, leeks, basil, endives, scallions. It was the last of the harvest. In early October he'd be planting what few things could sprout in the winter, like shallots and peas, and would also be seeding garlic for a May or June yield.  
  
Once again, it started as a quiet afternoon. Dooku relaxed as his hands and feet connected with the earth, the food he'd grown himself, the life in the plants he'd lovingly tended. He even managed to get through filling his baskets and bringing them inside. When everything was cleaned, he rewarded himself with a glass of wine, and decided he'd soak up more of the sunshine while he could, knowing the famous Pacific Northwest rains would be on their way soon enough.  
  
Sören was sitting out in his yard now, drinking that barbarian concoction he called "tea" and listening to rap music. Dooku made a face, but he wasn't going to go back inside. He sat down, drinking his wine, trying to not stare at the young man reading a Stephen King book. _Well, at least he has good taste in books._ If things were less fraught, Dooku might have felt like starting a conversation with him about it.  
  
But things were fraught. And as Dooku drank his wine, trying not to stare across the short picket fence over at Sören and failing, he thought about that. Sören had lived next door to him since late 2014 and had only been mildly annoying, with his neon green car and occasional loud music. Once in awhile Dooku would see Sören outside painting, but he'd be quiet then, or have music on earphones. Dooku hadn't seen Sören paint in awhile. Sören had been outside more often, reading. His music seemed angrier. Dooku wondered why that was.  
  
It wasn't any of his business, really, but something about it prickled him in a way that was hard to explain.  
  
Sören finally noticed Dooku looking at him. He raised an eyebrow. Dooku looked away, face burning, and sipped his wine. When he looked back, Sören was having another glass of that "tea" with ice in it. And then Sören turned up the volume on his stereo.  
  
Dooku put his glass down. "Do you mind?" He could feel the scowl on his face.  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
It was adorable - even vaguely arousing, innocent-yet-naughty - and it _enraged_ him. He _did not_ want to find this insolent, ill-mannered brat attractive. He especially did not want to have thoughts of taking Sören Sigurdsson over his knee and spanking him into submission.  
  
Dooku got up. This was war, the brat goading him like this.  
  
There was a shelf unit on wheels in Dooku's living room, which had his vinyl record player and two large speakers. It was on wheels so Dooku could push the sound system down the hall to the spare bedroom when he wanted to work out without having to go to the gym, or meditate. Now he pushed it into the kitchen, towards the back door. He plugged in the power strip, and went back to the living room to his shelf of vinyl records. Classical was an option - kids these days seemed to not appreciate the old masters, finding it "boring" when it was anything but - and yet classical didn't seem aggressive enough. Dooku decided on rock, something from before Sören was born. The question was what.  
  
He thumbed through the classic rock vinyl records, in their own category, and then he paused on something that he himself hadn't listened to in ages. A song that came out in 1968, when he was not yet twenty years old. He remembered when that song was _new_, he was a student at Oxford University.  
  
He grabbed the record, and an extension cord.  
  
Sören glanced up as Dooku came back out of his house, looking a little surprised, as if he hadn't been expecting Dooku to return, would just go away after turning up the music. Dooku tried to restrain the smirk as he pulled the shelf with his record player and speakers out the back door as far as the extension cord to the power strip would reach.  
  
Sören continued sipping his "tea" as his music blared.  
  
_She's too fly for words  
And where I'm at now I'm too high for birds  
Shorty, what you think about my return?  
Cause what he think about it ain't my concern  
I ain't come for you, I came for your misses  
I don't do it for the haters, I do it for the players  
Well okay, I do it for the riches  
But in the meantime and then between time  
Shorty right there gon' get it if she with it if she ain't  
And I know her partner down  
Cause her partner throwing shots every time I turn around  
And her partners bringing partners every time I come to town  
I'm a G6 sir, a Maybach-er  
You can tell the chauffeur he can park it right thurr  
And I'm a walk up to the club upsturrs  
And when I come down he can bring it back hurr_  
  
There was actual singing then.  
  
_She's 'bout to go in  
She likes that low end  
Damn, her ass is so big  
Just keep it bumping  
Peaches and cream_  
  
Dooku snorted. _Peaches and cream indeed._ Sweet for something souring his afternoon. He didn't want to think about Sören's shapely rear end, either. Hopefully he'd be seeing it on _its way out_, with what he set out to do.  
  
Dooku began to play his record, and turned the speakers up as high as they would go. "Up to eleven," Dooku muttered under his breath, though they didn't go that high.  
  
_In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey  
Don't you know that I love you?  
In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby  
Don't you know that I'll always be true?  
  
Oh, won't you come with me  
And a-take my hand?  
Oh, won't you come with me  
And a-walk this land?  
Please take my hand_  
  
The lyrics were a bit of an odd choice for going to war with Sören, but the aggressive drums and guitar were not. Dooku sat down with his wine, watching as his music overpowered Sören's, whose small portable mp3 stereo was only loud enough to go so far, Snoop Dogg drowned out by Iron Butterfly.  
  
Sören got up with a filthy look on his face - somehow even more attractive when he was riled up, _not that I'm attracted to him or anything_, Dooku thought, face burning - and Sören turned off his stereo, and carried his book and pitcher of iced tea inside. Dooku tried not to watch the firm ass in those jeans. When Sören came back to collect his stereo he shouted across the yard: "You win this time, old man."  
  
Dooku smiled, and raised his glass of wine in salute. And for good measure, when the song was over he played it again.


	4. My Brother's Keeper

**My Brother's Keeper**

  
  
  
It was a Thursday evening - Dooku's longest and busiest in the week, with three classes instead of two. Friday made up for it with only one class, and as a consequence Dooku usually spent Thursday evenings relaxing and Friday evenings getting caught up on lesson plans, grading papers, and research. But that routine was not always a given; tonight Dooku had to stay a bit later than usual meeting with two of his students by request.  
  
The nice thing about coming home later was that he was spared Sören's excuse for music driving into the neighborhood. He had the crock pot going while he was at work, and after a nice meal - and giving a little treat to Beowulf, who begged - he stretched out with a glass of wine and a re-read of _The Stand_ by Stephen King, one of his favorite books.  
  
Of course, his relaxation did not last long. But this time instead of music, it was shouting next door.  
  
Sören and Seth had argued before, but this time the volume was downright alarming. At first it was more muffled - he could only hear shouting, not make out words - and then he heard the sound of glass shattering.  
  
"WHAT THE FUCK, SETH!" Sören screamed.  
  
"Yeah? You see that broken glass? That's gonna be your fucking face..."  
  
Sören started cursing in Icelandic. Dooku felt an icy knot in the pit of his stomach. Seth had smashed something, and now he was threatening Sören. As much as Dooku didn't like Sören, this wasn't OK.  
  
"Fucking speak English, this is America," Seth snapped.  
  
"Why do you have to be like this?" Sören asked, his voice breaking. Dooku heard Sören start to sob. He heard the sound of broken glass being swept up. "I go out of my way for you, I try to make you happy..."  
  
"Really? You sure as hell could have fooled me. You make me so fucking miserable -"  
  
Dooku's mind flashed back to his own mother saying something similar - repeatedly - when he was a child, and then a teenager. _You make my life so goddamn miserable._ He learned from a young age to stay out of his parents' way as much as possible, to try to be invisible apart from performing well at school, but anything and everything set them off - if he made normal amounts of noise, if he spilled something, if he got injured, if he got sick. He knew from his own experience with abuse you didn't have to _do_ anything to provoke a bully, everything you did was wrong even when it wasn't.  
  
He could hear Sören crying, and for the first time, his heart went out to him.  
  
"Do you even know how much that glass sculpture cost?" Sören sobbed.  
  
"I don't care, it was fucking ugly. All the art you like, all the art you _make_, is fucking ugly. I don't know why they let you teach..."  
  
Dooku felt a surge of pure _rage_. Seth destroying property - _art_ \- making fun of Sören's art... His fists clenched.  
  
"Stop. Please. Just. _Stop._" Sören wept. "I'm so tired of this, Seth. I've tried to make things work with you -"  
  
"You could have fooled me. You don't want to touch me anymore, you freeze and just lay there like a dead fish when we fuck, you never want to go anywhere -"  
  
"I don't want to go places anymore because it always turns into us fighting, and someone almost called the police last time..."  
  
"And so we fight here."  
  
"You start it, Seth. It's always something with you -"  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake listen to yourself, Sören. 'You started it.' What are you, five?" Seth laughed bitterly. "You sure cry like a fucking five-year-old... pathetic."  
  
Dooku thought about calling the police, but he was not a fan of the police, having been involved in leftist activism all his adult life, and his distrust for the police had grown exponentially with all the cases of brutality in recent times. And he knew that domestic violence laws in this country were such that if he called the police, both Seth and Sören would be arrested and taken in, even when it seemed like Seth was clearly the aggressor here.  
  
But it was past the point where Dooku could sit and listen to it. He was genuinely concerned for Sören, and the more he listened to Seth the angrier he got. So, in his pajamas, bathrobe and slippers, he walked out of his house and went next door, knocking loudly.  
  
Seth Robinson answered the door. He was a few inches shorter than Sören, with a wiry build, short-cropped brown hair, and icy blue eyes. Preppy-looking, clean-shaven, and ruggedly handsome - if he wasn't sneering with contempt.  
  
"What?" Seth snarled.  
  
"May I speak with Sören for a moment?" Dooku asked.  
  
"I'll take a message," Seth said.  
  
Sören came to the door. "Professor Dooku. Hello." Sören's expression was neutral, but Dooku could see the red-rimmed eyes that were still glassy with tears.  
  
"Are you all right?" Dooku asked.  
  
Sören blinked slowly, as if he couldn't believe the neighbor he'd been feuding with was asking him such a question. "Of course he's all right," Seth said.  
  
"_I was addressing Sören._" Dooku raised his voice, his eyes narrowed.  
  
Sören cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and nodded. "Jæja, I'm... I'm fine."  
  
Dooku raised an eyebrow, giving Sören a look that let him know _you're not fine._ He _really_ wanted to take Sören aside and tell him to dump this arsehole, but something told him asking to speak to Sören alone would be pouring gasoline on the fire. Dooku collected his thoughts for a moment, wanting to be careful in his choice of words, and finally he said, "I was getting a bit concerned. The two of you were arguing rather loudly, you see..."  
  
Now Sören's expression was frosty. "So we were disturbing your peace. So very _sorry_ about that."  
  
And Dooku knew then that Sören was annoyed because Sören thought he was only there to tell them to keep it down, and otherwise didn't care. That wasn't an unfair assumption - they weren't friends, they'd had conflicts. But here and now Dooku _did_ care, because his own experience with abuse at home and bullying in school had given him a strong dislike of abusers and bullies. Whatever his personal opinion was of Sören, he didn't deserve any of this.  
  
Before Dooku could open his mouth and try to explain he was there on a welfare check rather than complaining about the noise - though the noise was troublesome, Sören said, "We'll keep it down." Seth nodded.  
  
"Yeah, we don't need the police coming out here," Seth muttered.  
  
Seth started to shuffle off and Sören said, flatly, "Have a good rest of the evening, Professor." Then he closed the door - not quite a slam, but firm, a decided _stay out of my business_ gesture.  
  
Dooku sighed. And then he cringed when he heard Seth - almost yelling - say, "You're a fucking idiot. You better hope that old fart doesn't call the police..."  
  
"Seth, can we just... stop? Going on and on doesn't help."  
  
"I wouldn't need to go on and on if you weren't such a fucking _moron_ -"  
  
Dooku knocked on the door again, this time pounding. Seth opened the door again.  
  
"Show some respect," Dooku said.  
  
"Listen, you don't know what's what -"  
  
"I know disrespect when I hear it. Give the man a break."  
  
This time Dooku was the one to close the door - fighting off the impulse to hit Seth in the jaw for that smart mouth of his. Sören glared at him out the window, and Dooku almost wished he hadn't gotten involved, but he _had to_. And even as Sören was glaring at him, still none too happy that he'd come over to say something about the fighting, Dooku felt for him. He felt like he hadn't done enough, but he didn't know what else to do.  
  
Dooku went back to his house, and the rest of the evening was quiet. Too quiet. Dooku found himself unable to concentrate on his book, his thoughts returning to Sören, wondering if he was OK.


	5. The Dogs of War

**The Dogs of War**

  
  
  
It was the weekend again. It was early October and the temperatures were still mild, the leaves just beginning to turn. Dooku was planting shallots and peas in his garden, which would thrive in the cold weather and yield in the winter, as well as garlic, which had a long growing time and would survive the winter to be ready in early summer.  
  
Seth's car had been parked outside Sören's house since Friday evening, suggesting that he was spending the weekend. Dooku didn't like that. He liked it even less when he saw Sören come out to the backyard with hamburgers and hot dogs, and set up the grill.  
  
_Here we go again,_ Dooku thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
He glared as he saw Seth give Sören a little kiss. "Lemme know when it's done," Seth said. "I'm looking forward to it." A pause, and Seth sneered. "It's the only thing you know how to make decently."  
  
Sören looked down, wincing as if in pain. _How rude_, Dooku thought to himself.  
  
Seth went back inside, and Sören turned on his little stereo. He looked agitated as he assembled the hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, and his choice of music - more rap - reflected that.  
  
Dooku was starting to put two and two together that the music seemed like the only outlet Sören had for his stress. And even so, it annoyed him. Moreso when he gave Sören a disapproving look over the small picket fence and Sören's response was to roll his eyes and turn it up.  
  
That did it. Dooku got up, brushed himself off, and went inside. This time he didn't feel like going to the trouble of picking out a vinyl record to blast, he just put on the classic rock station. He figured that would be annoying enough to a millennial. "Kids these days don't know what real music is," Dooku muttered to himself as he hooked up his speakers to the extension cord in the kitchen and rolled them outside.  
  
The classic rock station was having a two hour block of two songs per band; "Tom Sawyer" by Rush was just ending and now "YYZ" came on. Dooku went back to work in his garden, watching out of the corner of his eye. Sören seemed a little annoyed still, but then he surprised Dooku by turning his own music off and seeming to listen as the food cooked on the grill, tapping his foot and drumming with the tongs.  
  
Then Pink Floyd came on - "The Dogs of War" first. Sören surprised Dooku even more by singing along, in a husky, bluesy tenor like that of a R&B singer.  
  
_Dogs of war and men of hate  
With no cause, we don't discriminate  
Discovery is to be disowned  
Our currency is flesh and bone  
Hell opened up and put on sale  
Gather 'round and haggle  
For hard cash, we will lie and deceive  
Even our masters don't know  
The webs we weave  
  
One world, it's a battleground  
One world, and we will smash it down  
One world ... One world_  
  
"The Dogs of War" was followed by "Wish You Were Here". Sören sang along with that, too, and towards the end of the song his eyes met Dooku's as he sang:  
  
_How I wish, how I wish you were here.  
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,  
Running over the same old ground.  
What have we found?  
The same old fears.  
Wish you were here._  
  
Dooku had chills. Sören had a good voice, and the pain of experience to back up those words. He once again felt for the young man, clearly in a toxic relationship.  
  
After two from Pink Floyd, the classic rock station played Led Zeppelin, starting with "Stairway to Heaven". And as Sören took the now-done hamburgers and hot dogs off the grill, putting them on a plate, Dooku saw Sören's jaw quivering, looking as if he was trying to fight off tears, and at last failed, letting out a sob.  
  
Dooku got up and came over to the picket fence. "Are you all right?"  
  
Sören looked away.  
  
"Why are you crying?"  
  
"_Piss off,_" Sören snapped, tears streaming down his face. He started to walk off, carrying the plate of hamburgers and hot dogs.  
  
"Well, pardon me for caring," Dooku said.  
  
Sören paused. "You don't care about me," he growled. "Nobody cares about me," Sören said under his breath, and resumed walking.  
  
"I do care," Dooku said. "You're a fellow human being, in pain. You're -"  
  
Sören laughed. It was a bitter, derisive laugh. "Don't. Do not even."  
  
"Fine. I shan't." Dooku could feel himself glaring. "Excuse me for giving a damn. I'll save it for people who don't have such a chip on their shoulder."  
  
Sören made a face like he was stung, and Dooku knew he'd hit a nerve. Sören whirled around one last time, gave Dooku a murderous look, and spat out, "Fuck you!" Their eyes met, and Sören turned a little pink and added, "And - and your eyebrows!"  
  
And then Sören went inside, and Dooku just stood there, breathing hard, feeling annoyed with himself for letting this little brat get to him _yet again_. Then he heard Seth yelling from inside, "Jesus Fucking Christ, Sören, are you crying? You're such a fucking crybaby -"  
  
"DON'T START WITH ME," Sören yelled back.  
  
Dooku went inside. He splashed cold water on his face. His anger with Sören had now transferred to Seth. He had a feeling Sören's attitude problem was probably a direct result of being bullied constantly. It didn't make it right for Sören to take that out on him, but he at least understood why, now.  
  
He sighed. _What a fucking mess._


	6. Cat's in the Cradle

**Cat's in the Cradle**

  
  
  
On his way home from work on Wednesday, Dooku stopped at the grocery store and picked up a few odds and ends, enough to tide him over till the weekend.  
  
The Pacific Northwest rains had returned - it had rained all day, finally letting up when Dooku was in the store. Birds were hopping around his front yard, looking for worms.  
  
Beowulf was old and lethargic enough that Dooku could leave the door open while he brought groceries inside and think nothing of it. But after he'd been home awhile and he opened a can of Beowulf's food and the cat didn't come out at the sound of it as usual, Dooku got a little worried. First he looked in all the usual spots, then a more thorough inspection of the house - under the bed, in nooks and crannies such as cupboards, behind the couch. Nothing.  
  
He felt an icy knot in the pit of his stomach, realizing Beowulf had probably gotten out while he'd left the door open. And it had been close to an hour, so though the cat moved slowly, he could be several streets away by now...  
  
..._if he hasn't gotten hit by a car. Or worse._  
  
Dooku's mind began playing a thousand worst-case scenarios of his cat getting killed or injured as he came outside calling out "Beowulf! Beowulf." He spent three hours on foot going in one direction then the other, trying to find his cat. He finally went home, hoping Beowulf had enough sense to stay close to home, continuing to call for his cat as he walked through the neighborhood.  
  
When he'd been home for ten minutes he started to cry. Beowulf was sixteen years old now; Dooku had him since he was a kitten, showing up on his doorstep in the year 2000. Dooku loved that cat like it was his own child, and Beowulf had been his only companion and one of his very few friends. The cat's presence in his life was a much-needed constant - no matter how bad his day was going, he'd be soothed by the cat's purr, the way Beowulf liked to cuddle with him and be stroked. Beowulf didn't play much anymore, thanks to arthritis, but would still leave his toy mouse on Dooku's pillow for Dooku to find when he got home from work. He knew that Beowulf was approaching the twilight of his life - as was he - but he was hoping for just a few more years, at least, and certainly not an end where he'd be mangled, or starve to death outdoors...  
  
Dooku was not religious these days, having lapsed from his Orthodox upbringing before the age of twenty-five, but he still reverted to prayer at times like this, bowing his head, folding his hands. _Please._  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
Dooku wasn't expecting anybody. He warily got up and opened the door a crack. His eyebrows raised when he saw Sören. He opened the door wider and his face lit up when he saw Sören holding Beowulf. Beowulf was purring away, Sören stroking him.  
  
"This little _rassgat_ showed up in my yard," Sören said with a smirk. "I was going to bring him back sooner, but you weren't answering your door..."  
  
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was walking around the last three hours looking for him." He gestured. "Come in."  
  
Sören walked inside Dooku's house for the first time and looked around, sizing the place up. He continued holding Beowulf and stroking him. "Here you are," Sören said softly, speaking to the cat. "You're home now, with your _pabbi_, yes you are."  
  
"I hope he wasn't any trouble -"  
  
"Oh no, not at all. I gave him a little tuna fish while we waited, I hope that's OK."  
  
Dooku smiled. "You're probably his new favorite person now."  
  
"Jæja, he really liked that. He climbed up on me and got all the pettings." Sören kissed the top of the cat's head. "I almost didn't want to bring him back, but he's your cat and you need him. And Seth doesn't like cats." Sören made a face.  
  
"It seems Seth doesn't have taste," Dooku said before he could stop himself.  
  
Sören looked away, saying nothing. Then he held out the cat. "Anyway, uh. Here's your baby."  
  
Dooku took Beowulf, tears in his eyes, and began petting him. "I'm so glad you're home, little one," Dooku said to the cat, his voice soft and tender. "I'm so sorry you got out. Normally you don't escape when I have the door open..."  
  
"He probably saw birds," Sören said, nodding.  
  
"Probably." Dooku sighed. "Would you like coffee? Tea?"  
  
"I should get going." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, rubbed his beard, and looked down. Then he looked up at Dooku, his dark eyes a little too bright. "I'm glad I found your cat. Three hours is dedication."  
  
"He's the most precious thing I own."  
  
Sören looked around Dooku's house again - the expensive framed art on the walls, wooden sculptures and pottery from around the world, the massive amount of books, the extensive vinyl record collection. The leather couch, with a tapestry throw hanging over the back. The recliner. Oriental rugs. He seemed to be considering that Dooku valued his cat above and beyond his material goods, and when Dooku and Sören's eyes met again, Sören's expression was soft.  
  
"Yes, you're my precious baby," Dooku cooed to the cat, relief flooding through him, the cat's deep purr rumbling away. "My sweet little boy." He looked up at Sören, continuing to stroke the cat. "Are you quite sure you don't want anything..."  
  
Sören nodded. "Seth is... coming over soon, so I can't stay."  
  
Dooku made a noise of disgust, and Sören looked away again.  
  
"All right," Dooku said. "Thank you very much for bringing him over safe and sound - "  
  
"Jæja, I'm glad he didn't get far."  
  
Dooku walked Sören to the door and Sören lingered for a moment. He bent to get eye level with Beowulf, still in Dooku's arms, and he said, "Now don't you escape again, OK? Stay here with your _pabbi_. He needs you." Sören gave the cat some pettings. "But it was nice visiting you, though. You were such a good kitty." Sören kissed the cat's head and nuzzled it. "Such a good baby. I wish I had a kitty just like you, I'd spoil him so much..." Sören straightened his posture and gave a little anxious laugh, looking sheepish, tucking an errant lock of hair behind his ear.  
  
Dooku felt strangely flustered - Sören was downright adorable with the cat, and he wasn't used to seeing this softer side of him. He knew that Sören was a well-liked professor, but here was the proof of this, a bit of kindness peeking through instead of the usual hostility towards his neighbor. Dooku smiled at Sören, and Sören smiled back.  
  
"Have a good evening, Professor Dooku," Sören said.  
  
"You too, Professor Sigurdsson."  
  
Sören opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then closed his mouth as if he thought better of it, and then gave a little wave, walking out into the rain that had just started up again. Dooku closed the door gently behind him, and leaned up against the door for a minute with a little sigh, his stomach turning flip-flops, his face on fire.  
  
He brought Beowulf back to the couch. He needed to make dinner for himself soon, especially after three hours of non-stop walking, but he needed to hold his cat for awhile longer. And as relieved as he was at the cat being found, he felt on edge as well. He couldn't stop thinking about Sören's affection towards the cat, the admission that Sören wanted a cat of his own, and Seth didn't like cats. His relief now extended to Sören finding the cat rather than Seth. He didn't like to assume the worst about people, but he couldn't help but think Seth wouldn't be as sympathetic, doing something like kicking the cat...  
  
...and he hoped to god that Seth wasn't hitting Sören. The verbal abuse was bad enough - Dooku knew firsthand how bad verbal abuse could be.  
  
Dooku felt a surge of anger, his mind revisiting the things he'd heard Seth say to Sören. He and Sören weren't quite friends, but this evening had been a game-changer in a sense - a form of truce. Dooku hoped that he could use this somehow to try to help, somehow.  
  
Not that it would be easy.  
  
But first... "Here, come have your food." Dooku carried Beowulf to the kitchen, so he could start dinner.


	7. Compassion

**Compassion**

  
  
  
It was a rainy Sunday. For much of the school week Dooku would have the crock pot going while he was away, and dinner would be mostly ready by the time he got home - sometimes he did something else, as the act of puttering around at the stove and oven was stress-relieving to him. His mother teaching him to cook was one of the few positive things he had to say about her, and it was a necessity with how long he'd been a bachelor. To Dooku, cooking was almost an art form - something he prided on doing well; he liked learning new recipes and trying new foods, though he had some favorites he went back to time and again. Today was a rarity in that he didn't feel like cooking, for once, and was willing to go out and be around people in a restaurant as a form of treating himself after what had been a more difficult week than usual.  
  
After taking a half-hour to weigh the possibilities, he decided on Indian. He put on his trenchcoat and a jaunty fedora, and spent a few moments petting Beowulf - who was sitting in his cat tree watching birds peck outside - before heading out.  
  
As he left the house, he heard muffled yelling from next door, as if Sören and Seth were fighting in one of the back rooms of Sören's house, like the bedroom or the kitchen. Then the yelling moved closer, into the living room, near the window and front door. Dooku lingered before getting in his jeep, listening, feeling that icy knot in the pit of his stomach again.  
  
"God, you can't do anything right," Seth yelled. "You're completely fucking worthless."  
  
The words touched Dooku on the raw, remembering his own parents telling him he was worthless, many times over during his childhood and adolescence. _You'll never amount to anything_ had also been a common refrain, even when he'd been at the top of his class. And when he graduated from Oxford, with the intent to go into teaching - as his own teachers had been his only source of support, he wanted to pay that forward - his father disparaged him for not working with his hands like "a real man". They had noble blood, but in the old country they had always been a family to work the land themselves, to rely on their own labor rather than that of servants, having as few as they could get away with. Dooku's response had been to leave for the United States and not look back. At some point he just stopped taking it, not even bothering to cross the ocean to visit London when his parents were dying - he'd gone to England in 1983 and made it a point of not visiting them. But long after he'd stopped taking it, he'd still feel the hurt whenever he remembered their words. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for Sören now, in the thick of it.  
  
Dooku ached for him.  
  
"If I'm so worthless why are you even with me?" Sören asked.  
  
"I ask myself that too. Used to be the answer was you're a hot little piece of ass, but you're not even that anymore, you just lay there..."  
  
"Not this again."  
  
"OK fine, not this. We'll talk about what else is fucking wrong with you, like you crying all the fucking time. Look at you, crying now. You're pathetic."  
  
"Can you just stop? Please? I said I'm sorry for the spill. Let it go, let's do something and get our mind off this -"  
  
"How can I get my mind off this when you fuck up _constantly_? I am so tired of you dropping shit and spilling shit, jumping out of your skin over the least little thing. I wanted to be with a man, not a fucking pussy."  
  
And Dooku had a feeling he knew why Sören was having those accidents - he was nervous all the time, startled easily, thanks to Seth.  
  
Sure enough, Sören replied with, "Maybe if you weren't yelling at me all the time I wouldn't be so on edge, flinching -"  
  
"Sure, blame it on me instead of owning your shit. Then again, what do I expect from a grown man who still needs to sleep with a doll." Sören started swearing in Icelandic, and Seth cut in with "I told you to cut that shit out and I still saw you with it anyway, like a little bitch."  
  
Seth going after Sören for _that_ felt like it hit below the belt; Dooku remembered being shamed by his parents for still keeping his teddy bear, Winston. He started to walk towards Sören's front door. As he did, he saw Sören look out the window, and their eyes met and Sören mouthed the word "NO", shook his head, and made an X with his hands before spreading them out. Sören walked to the window and pulled down the blind.  
  
"Seth, I don't want the neighbors to hear this," Sören said, his voice moving away from the window. "Seriously, let's calm down and try to do something else, já? Like watch a movie?"  
  
Their voices moved out of the room. Dooku sighed. He still wanted to go to the door and ask Sören if he was all right - he was sorely tempted to get a few licks in on Seth, wanting to make the man cry and cower with the same kind of fear it seemed Sören lived in continuously. But he didn't. He got in his car and drove to the Indian restaurant.  
  
And as he ate, his thoughts kept returning to Sören. Hurting for him.  
  
That night he had a hard time sleeping, thinking of Sören again. Wishing there was something he could do.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören and Dooku taught on different ends of the campus and different departments, so their paths rarely crossed except sometimes in the canteen and at faculty meetings. On Monday, Dooku made it a point to study Sören's schedule, and though his own classes let out first he lingered on campus, waiting for Sören's last class to finish, and made a beeline for Sören's classroom.  
  
Sören's eyes widened and eyebrows raised with surprise as Dooku walked in. "Professor Dooku."  
  
"Professor Sigurdsson." Dooku hovered at the outside of Sören's classroom, until Sören made a sweeping gesture for Dooku to come in.  
  
Sören swallowed hard. He was in the process of putting away art supplies. "So, ah, what brings you here?"  
  
"I think you already know, Professor Sigurdsson."  
  
Sören rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "Please, call me Sören. My last name is a patronymic, not a surname, everyone is on a first-name basis back home."  
  
"All right." Dooku nodded. Then he did something that he _never_ did, amazed that he was letting his guard down with someone he despised until recently. "You can call me Nicolae."  
  
Sören folded his arms and leaned against the edge of one of the work tables, half-sitting on it. "So... Nicolae. You heard me and my boyfriend fighting again yesterday -"  
  
"I was going to come over and check on you, and tell him to stop, but you said no."  
  
"Jæja..." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls and rubbed his beard. "Last time you intervened it, ah, kind of made things worse. He was really pissed about that. I didn't want to throw gasoline on the fire."  
  
Dooku sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I just..." He frowned. "It's not even that the noise is a disturbance to me. It's that seeing you mistreated, itself, is a disturbance to me. I don't like the way he talks to you. I don't know why you put up with it." Their eyes met, and held. "You deserve better."  
  
Sören looked down, at the floor, and rubbed his curls and his beard again. He resumed putting the art supplies away into bins, saying nothing.  
  
"I mean it, Sören."  
  
"You don't even know me," Sören muttered, turning his back, paintbrushes and tubes of paint noisily landing into bins.  
  
"I don't need to know you to know that people should behave decently to other people. And -"  
  
"Look." Sören turned around again, gritting his teeth, before he let out a sigh and his body language relaxed just slightly. There was another awkward silence as Sören looked down, and then his eyes were tear-filled and defiant as they looked back up into Dooku's own. "I don't need you to feel fucking sorry for me."  
  
"It's not pity, Sören." Dooku's voice softened. "It's compassion."  
  
Sören turned his back and slammed more supplies into their bins. "Whatever it is, I don't need it. As far as why I put up with it... I've tried to dump his arse several times now. He won't leave me alone."  
  
"That sounds like a job for the police and a restraining order."  
  
"Jæja, because the police are such paragons of tolerance in this country, I'm sure they'd be thrilled to help gay people just like they're thrilled to help black people. Get the fuck out of here with that nonsense."  
  
Dooku knew that Sören was right - he distrusted the police himself, and he was an elderly white man in the closet - but in his desperation to help try to fix things somehow, it was what he reached for.  
  
And then Sören said, "I mean it. Get out of here, I... I need to be alone right now."  
  
"Dammit, Sören." Dooku let out a little growl. "I'm just trying to help. You don't know how upset I was last night, listening to his filth -"  
  
"Not nearly as upset as I was, trust me." Sören whirled around. "And the only thing worse than him talking to me like that? Is your pity. Call it compassion if you want - same thing, different fucking name."  
  
Dooku wanted to scream with his frustration. He tried to be calm in the face of his inner storm, his voice raising only slightly as he said, "It's not pity. I do care. And forgive me for caring. Damn you, Sören, and your stubbornness... damn you and your _pride._" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he felt an unnerving sense of déjà vu, not understanding why, which made it all the more _maddening_.  
  
He turned on his heel and stormed out, but not before Sören yelled, "Jæja, fuck you!" after him.


	8. Explosion

**Explosion**

  
  
  
After raining all week, the weekend was sunny, though with it being mid-October, the temperatures were starting to cool. The rose bushes in Dooku's front yard were still blooming for now - Dooku knew that they would be gone soon, and he spent some time on Sunday morning admiring his roses while he could, taking two clippings of the last bloom of the year to press.  
  
In the afternoon he heard loud music coming from Sören's yard again - 90s alternative rock rather than rap; Dooku already knew from Seth's car parked outside Sören's house that Seth was over. It was still daylight and they weren't technically breaking any laws but Dooku was annoyed by the volume anyway, and he came out to the yard to approach the small picket fence separating their yards, intending to ask them to keep it down.  
  
Sören was grilling outside. It was past the kind of weather that most Americans would want to barbecue in, but Dooku imagined that to an Icelander this was really nothing. Seth was sitting in a lawn chair with his feet out and Sören was waiting on him, bringing him a drink rather than Seth getting it himself. Something about that annoyed Dooku, most of all the way Sören seemed on edge and timid. It was a marked change from when Sören had been alone outdoors playing his music loudly, his posture strong and defiant. Sören's eyes were downcast as well, his head drooping.  
  
Now, as Sören brought Seth a drink, Seth couldn't resist a jab. "You sure took your sweet time."  
  
"As you might have noticed, I was cooking."  
  
"Yeah, and you could have left that for a few seconds to hurry your ass over here." Seth took a sip of the drink Sören brought him - a red-purplish brown beverage with ice in it. He made a face. "Blah, this raspberry iced tea isn't sweet enough." He handed his glass back to Sören. "Needs more sugar."  
  
Sören took the glass with a sigh.  
  
Dooku's nostrils flared. He felt like yelling _he's not your slave_ across the yard, but held back.  
  
"Well?" Seth gave Sören a little shove. "Let's go."  
  
Sören jumped, flinching - Dooku winced as well - and Sören ended up dropping the glass. It landed on Seth, the contents spilling all over Seth's white T-shirt and khakis. That would leave a stain. Dooku bit back a smirk. If anyone deserved to have clothing ruined, it was Seth Robinson.  
  
His amusement quickly faded remembering how Sören had been startled, and now there was fury on Seth's face, finally getting up. Sören scooted back. "You," Seth rasped. "You did this on purpose, you little _shit_."  
  
"I didn't. I got nervous when you pushed me, I dropped it -" Sören was shaking.  
  
"Don't you fucking lie to me, you little bitch. YOU DROPPED THIS ON PURPOSE! I'll never be able to get these stains out, YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THESE CLOTHES COST ME?" Seth's fists clenched. "GOD! You fucking moron!"  
  
Dooku blinked slowly, every muscle in his body tensing, like he was ready to spring.  
  
"Seth, please." Sören tried to back away, eyes wide with terror, full lips parted. "I'm sorry. I'll... I'll pay to have them replaced, it was an accident -"  
  
"_You're_ a fucking accident!" With that, Seth grabbed Sören by the tail of his flannel shirt and backhanded him. Sören dropped to his knees, holding his face, and Seth punched him.  
  
Something in Dooku went off like a nuke. Not thinking about it, just feeling, Dooku stepped over the picket fence, and marched over to Seth. "Why, you little -"  
  
"Oh, look what the cat dragged in. You think you're tough, Grandpa?" Seth made a "come here" gesture. "Come and get it -"  
  
What Seth didn't know - what most people didn't know - was that a few times a month Dooku had Krav Maga classes, which he'd started taking several years ago in case things got spicy with the anti-fascist work he did. Here and now, was an oppressor of another sort.  
  
He decked Seth in the face, hard enough to drop him, then he picked Seth up, chokeslammed him against the wall next to the back door, and punched him in the face again, then in the stomach, then kneed Seth in the groin. When he released his grip on Seth, Seth slid down the wall, trembling.  
  
Dooku took a few steps back, breathing hard, shaking with fury. He wanted to do so much more than that, but he knew that anything more would leave a mess that would be bad for Sören.  
  
Dooku _spat_ at Seth. "_Ești o bucată de rahat fără valoare,_" he said. He had not sworn in his parents' native tongue in _years_, that was how far gone he was in his rage now.  
  
Seth moaned, and Dooku could see the fear in his eyes. Dooku smiled - a predatory smile.  
  
"If you call the police on me," Dooku warned him, "I'm a sixty-seven-year-old college professor, nobody is going to believe that I would attack you unprovoked... and I'll tell them you were attacking Sören. Which isn't a lie. So I wouldn't, if I were you."  
  
He waited, his arms folded. After Seth had been laying there for awhile, he managed to get up - wincing, moaning in pain. He gave Dooku a contemptuous glare, though there was still fear in his eyes. Dooku waited, to see if Seth was going to go after him or Sören. Seth went inside.  
  
"Oh shit, the food is burning." Sören ran to the grill and turned it off. He started to cry at the charred, ruined food. "Fuck, I can't do anything right -"  
  
Dooku came over to Sören and gently put a hand on his shoulder. He realized when Sören flinched that he probably should have asked first, but then Sören relaxed, taking deep breaths, leaning into his touch. Dooku tilted Sören's face to his and looked into his eyes. Then Dooku examined the side of Sören's face where Seth had hit him.  
  
Dooku and Sören both turned their heads as they heard the roaring engine and _screech_ of a car tearing out of the front of Sören's house. Sören fell apart then, crying.  
  
Dooku led Sören inside. Dooku had never been inside Sören's house. The kitchen was done in tile counters and a linoleum floor, ivory and cream, warm buttery yellow and soft golds predominating, evocative of sunshine. Sören had an oak wooden table and chairs that matched the wood of his cupboards, and there was a beautiful ceramic bowl on his kitchen table, growing a potted cactus in sand - a purple variety of dwarf prickly pear - with a spiraling rock arrangement around it. Dooku admired the bands of color of the bowl - reminiscent of a sunset - as he walked to Sören's pale beige fridge and freezer, taking out a tray of ice. "Do you have plastic sandwich bags? Where do you keep them?"  
  
"Second drawer down next to the stove," Sören mumbled, looking down.  
  
Dooku put ice in a plastic bag and pressed it into Sören's hand, who muttered "_takk_" before holding the makeshift ice pack to his face. Dooku's gaze went back and forth between Sören and the bowl of cactus.  
  
"You like that?" Sören asked, noticing Dooku noticing the bowl.  
  
"I do." Dooku nodded.  
  
"I made that bowl," Sören said softly.  
  
Dooku's breath hitched. He felt a strange feeling in his stomach, his pulse racing again. It was a little too warm in the kitchen suddenly. "It's beautiful," Dooku said sincerely, his voice husky.  
  
"I have other pottery around the house, that I made. I'd show you if I wasn't so..."  
  
"I understand." Dooku nodded. "Sometime, you can give me the tour."  
  
"Sometime." Sören nodded. He looked down. "At least you liked it. Seth kept telling me to get rid of it -"  
  
"You should get rid of _him._" Dooku's eyes narrowed.  
  
Wordlessly, Sören stepped into the living room, then walked down his hall to what Dooku presumed was the bedroom, and finally Sören came back. "He took the duffel bag he brought with him for the weekend so I think he's gone." Sören looked down again.  
  
"I hope it's for good." Dooku folded his arms. "This isn't the first time he hit you, is it?"  
  
Sören frowned and shook his head. "No."  
  
Dooku exhaled sharply. He had been afraid of that. "When I intervened that time, told him to show some respect and you said later that made it worse..."  
  
Sören nodded, looking away. "He hit me." He laughed bitterly. "He said I was _flirting with you._ I don't even know you."  
  
Even if Sören had been, Dooku found he wasn't bothered by that idea at all - though he felt like he was well past the age anyone would find him attractive. "I'm sorry that he hit you after that."  
  
"I know you meant well." Sören looked down.  
  
"Sören..." Dooku felt strange about offering this, since he still didn't know Sören well, but he needed to offer some kind of comfort. "I don't know what your plans are, after what happened out there with the grill, but you're welcome to come over and have dinner with me..."  
  
Sören shook his head. "I don't want to impose -"  
  
"You wouldn't be imposing."  
  
"...and I... I need to be alone right now. I'm not very good company when I'm like this." Sören looked away.  
  
Dooku sighed. He was disappointed, but he surely did understand the need for space in deep emotional upset. "All right. If you change your mind, as you know I'm right next door -"  
  
"Jæja."  
  
"And if he comes back..." Dooku set his jaw. "I don't care what time of night it is. You come get me immediately. I'll be home. I don't want you to be alone with that, especially if he's angry with me and he decides to take it out on you."  
  
Sören nodded. "OK."  
  
"Promise me, Sören." Dooku's voice raised slightly - he felt bad about it, not wanting to scare the man, but there was a sense of urgency. He didn't want Sören to get attacked again, or worse...  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Do you want me to go now?" Dooku heard a little break in his voice. He didn't want to - he felt the urge to just stay, cook for Sören, try to get his mind off things with a movie or something...  
  
"Jæja. It's not personal. I just... I can't people right now, after this. I need to shut down for awhile." Sören closed his eyes and when he opened them, his dark eyes sparkled with tears. It tore at Dooku's heart. "I'm so fucking ashamed -"  
  
"Sören, you did nothing wrong. _He_ is the one at fault here."  
  
"I do everything wrong," Sören said, and started walking away. Before he could go away completely though, he said, "Thank you, again, for..."  
  
"No need to thank me." Dooku gave a small, polite wave. "It was the right thing to do."  
  
With that, he left out the back door of Sören's house, and instead of walking across the yard over the picket fence, he walked along the side of his house, taking a last look in the window at Sören, looking so _defeated_ as he made his way into the living room, shoulders down... starting to sob. It was all Dooku could do to not go back in, march into Sören's home, and take Sören into his arms.  
  
Dooku swallowed hard, his own eyes tearing up. He hoped this was the last time he'd have to step in with Seth. He hoped Sören would be well and truly done now. And yet, Seth had hit him before and Sören had said himself he'd tried to end it and Seth kept coming back.  
  
He ached for Sören... and he was afraid of what might happen next.


	9. One Step Forward

**One Step Forward**

  
  
  
Dooku decided to give Sören his space the next forty-eight hours, which was agonizing for him, wanting to check up on him... but he understood Sören's need for solitude in stress, as well as Sören's pride, not wanting to show his vulnerability around others - damnable that it was in these circumstances.  
  
Early Tuesday evening Dooku was reading _The Stand_ while dinner was cooking, and he had the classic rock station playing in the background. His thoughts kept wandering to Sören, resolving to go see him at school tomorrow.  
  
And then out of the corner of his eye he noticed a flash of movement at the window. He looked up from his book and he saw Sören at his rose bushes. Sören wasn't wearing his usual glasses, and his curls were up in a loose, messy "man bun", and he was dressed down from his usual school attire, in a red plaid flannel shirt over a black T-shirt, and faded skinny jeans. Beowulf was in the cat tree, perking up when he saw Sören - Beowulf put a paw on the window, and Sören waved to the cat, putting a finger on the window on the other side of the cat's paw as he stooped, leaning in to smell the roses, admiring the blooms that would soon be gone.  
  
Even dressed down, with that ridiculous hairdo, and bruises on the side of his face, Sören was lovely. Dooku's breath caught at that shy yet radiant smile as Sören enjoyed his roses. He got up, and opened the front door.  
  
"Jæja, I was just about to knock," Sören said.  
  
Dooku wordlessly made a "get over here" gesture, and Sören followed him inside. Dooku quietly closed the door behind him.  
  
"Coffee? Tea?" Dooku hesitated, then offered, "A glass of wine?"  
  
"I can't drink much," Sören said.  
  
Dooku blinked. Scandinavians, and Icelanders in particular, were known for hard drinking.  
  
"Medication," Sören quickly explained. "I'll have coffee, though."  
  
Dooku had a fresh pot of coffee, and brought Sören into the kitchen. Sören took his with cream and two sugars. Dooku and Sören sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table - Sören's eyes wandered around, taking it all in - and there was silence. Beowulf came in to rub against Sören's legs and get pettings before going over to his food dish.  
  
Dooku got up then to turn over the chicken in the oven.  
  
"That looks good," Sören said.  
  
"You're welcome to stay for dinner." Dooku looked at him.  
  
Sören looked down, and then finally he nodded. "OK. _Takk._"  
  
Dooku sat back at the table. "How are you?"  
  
Sören shrugged. "Still pretty shaken up."  
  
"I imagine so." Dooku frowned into his coffee. "Has he come back?"  
  
"No," Sören said.  
  
"Let's hope it stays that way."  
  
Sören nodded, looking away. Looking like he was staring at something very far away. "I think I'm well and truly done with him, this time." Sören looked back at his coffee, and then his eyes met Dooku's as he picked up the mug and took a sip. "The last few times I tried to break up with him, he kept coming back..."  
  
"Yes, you mentioned that."  
  
"...and there was always 'baby I'll change', and for a little while he did change, he was nicer... and then of course, it happened again." Sören put his mug down and looked down again. "And I'm tired of it. I've been tired of it, but..." Sören looked into Dooku's eyes. "He's gotten more unhinged. He used to be more discrete about hitting me, only indoors, where no one could see. He lost it enough to hit me out in the open like that -"  
  
"I definitely think you should let him go for good, Sören, yes. Before he does something worse."  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Dooku sipped his coffee, then put the mug down and folded his hands on the table. "I don't trust the police any more than you do - I probably trust them even less than you do, in fact -"  
  
Sören blinked. "Really."  
  
"Leftist activism is something I do in my spare time. Started when I was a student at Oxford, stepped up when I came here to the States. In more recent years it's been the Occupy protests and Black Lives Matter demonstrations. Anyway..." Dooku leaned back in his chair. "I would still urge you to seek a restraining order. I'll go with you to the police for moral support if you want." He made a face at that idea. "But I'm not sure how cooperative they'd be -"  
  
"Jæja, me either. Plus this is two guys, so there would probably be some question as to whether or not it was just him..." Sören's voice trailed off. "Anyway, I'm not bothering with the police."  
  
"In lieu of that," Dooku said, "You should change the locks on your doors."  
  
Sören nodded. "I rent the house, and I can't change the locks without my landlord's permission. I actually called him about that this morning and he told me I can't do it myself, he has to send a locksmith out. He said 'it'll be a few days'. Which..."  
  
"Jesus Christ." Dooku frowned. "That's too long."  
  
"I will say that this isn't like other times we've split," Sören said. "He hasn't called. Usually he blows up my cell phone within hours after he leaves and doesn't stop calling. He hasn't even shown up at the university or anything -"  
  
"He's done that?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Dooku felt like an idiot for asking, he shouldn't have been surprised Seth would be that extreme.  
  
"So he hasn't called, he hasn't shown up. Just silence. Of course, this isn't like other times, either." Sören's eyes met Dooku's again. "Thank you, again, for -"  
  
"I told you there's no need to thank me. What he did to you - what he's been doing to you - it isn't right, Sören. Anyone with a shred of common decency would have stepped in, or tried to get some help."  
  
"It was very decent. And..." Sören exhaled sharply. He looked down, then at Dooku again. "I feel I need to apologize for... antagonizing you, with the music."  
  
Now _this_ was surprising. Dooku raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You probably know this now, but. Seth stresses me out. He gets me agitated. Angry. I can't fight back - he's physically stronger, plus I freeze when he goes off on me. Music helps me get out of my head. And it got to the point where even being in my own house when he wasn't there felt too much like him, so it's why I'd sit outside reading."  
  
Dooku felt for him. He found he couldn't even be angry anymore about those incidents.  
  
"But... I was rude and inconsiderate. It's not like me to be like that, but I just." Sören shrugged. "I don't know. I shouldn't make excuses. I'm sorry for being a pain in the arse."  
  
Dooku reached across the table and patted Sören's hand. Their eyes met, and Dooku's hand lingered for a moment; Sören gave him a small, sad smile, and the hurt puppydog eyes made Dooku want to come over and hug him, but he didn't. Despite the beverage, Dooku's mouth was suddenly dry. His heart raced a little, his stomach doing flip-flops. _He has beautiful eyes._  
  
He thought about the ceramic bowl in Sören's kitchen, the one he made himself, looking like a sunset. He'd assumed Sören had no taste, from the neon green car to the rap music to the way he dressed, the gauge plugs in his ears - though it still had bothered him to hear Seth disparage his art, before he'd seen it. But that bowl was exquisite, and Dooku found himself wanting to see more. He thought about asking, but he felt strangely shy. His hand was still on Sören's, and he felt a prickle of self-consciousness, pulling his hand back. His face burned.  
  
"Apology accepted," Dooku said.  
  
"All Along the Watchtower" by Jimi Hendrix started on the classic rock station and Sören's eyes widened. "Oh, can you turn this up?" he asked.  
  
Dooku went into the living room and turned up the stereo and then he came back in, smiling a little, delighted. "I had no idea you liked this stuff," he said, sitting back down. "Well, apart from that standoff we had..."  
  
"My parents came of age in the 70s," Sören said. "My mamma always had this kind of music playing. My favorite band from that era is ELO."  
  
"Oh, really? Well, that's good to know. I feel as if most people your age have forgotten all about music older than they are. Though..." Dooku knew he probably shouldn't press it now, if Sören was still a little raw emotionally, but his curiosity - and concern - was getting the better of him. "You cried at 'Stairway to Heaven'."  
  
"Jæja." Sören sighed. He rubbed his head and his beard. "My mamma used to sing me that as a lullaby."  
  
"Oh." Dooku felt strangely touched by Sören's sentimentality. Then there was more curiosity and concern. "What does she think of all of this, with Seth?"  
  
"She doesn't." Sören exhaled sharply. "She's dead."  
  
"Oh dear. I'm sorry."  
  
"It was close to my sixth birthday. I was the one to find her body." Sören frowned, and looked down.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Sören. I -"  
  
"Don't apologize. You didn't know. But yes, that song always hits a nerve for me, especially when I'm already feeling sensitive." Sören scowled. "I'm thirty-one now, almost thirty-two, and I still miss her."  
  
"That's understandable. She was your mother." Dooku got the urge again to hug him, and didn't. "What about your father? If I was your father, I'd want to fly out from Iceland and knock his teeth out -"  
  
"Father's dead too. Died before I was two, never knew him, though I heard about him. My aunt and uncle raised me." Sören gave a bitter laugh. "Or 'raised', I should say." His fingers made air quotes. "We raised ourselves, my siblings and cousin. They were too busy drinking. Except when we pissed them off. But... never mind about that. You don't want to know about my life."  
  
"I do," Dooku said. "I'd like to be your friend."  
  
"You didn't like me very much as of very recently."  
  
"I misjudged you. And you misjudged me. But we can start over." Pink Floyd was on the stereo now. "We have common ground."  
  
They had more coffee and sat in companionable silence, listening to music, and then dinner was ready. Sören gave profuse compliments, which made Dooku glow with pride. At the end of the meal Sören offered to do dishes.  
  
"You're a guest," Dooku said. "It's not necessary -"  
  
"You cooked," Sören said. "It's only fair -"  
  
Dooku gave him a stern look, remembering the way Sören waited on Seth outside. "You're not a servant, Sören. Go sit in the living room and relax. I'll take care of everything."  
  
They ended up watching an episode of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ together - another commonality - and Beowulf sat on Sören's lap, purring away. Dooku couldn't get over how adorable Sören was with the cat.  
  
He couldn't get over how adorable Sören was, period. He kept stealing glances at Sören as the show wore on, his stomach fluttering, face burning. As the credits rolled he finally took himself to task internally. _Stop looking at him like that. You're old enough to be his father, or older._  
  
"I should get going," Sören said.  
  
"All right." Dooku sighed reluctantly.  
  
He walked Sören to the door, and then, taking his keys and closing his front door behind him, he decided to walk Sören over to his house. It was a chilly, clear night, and Dooku and Sören looked up at the stars as they walked. Sören lingered at the door, looking at the stars again.  
  
"My twin brother and I had a nightly ritual of coming out to look at the stars and say goodnight to the moon when we were kids," Sören said.  
  
"Twin brother? So there's two of you?" Dooku's lips quirked in a small smile, not knowing if the world could handle two Sörens.  
  
Sören laughed - it felt so good to hear him laugh, and the way it lit up his face was beautiful. Then Sören shook his head. "Fraternal. And we're nothing alike, really. But..." Sören looked back up at the sky. "It's still something I do sometimes, and I think about my brother doing the same thing, watching the same sky."  
  
"So he's not dead."  
  
"No. He's up in Canada. He's a teacher like me. That's... where the similarities begin and end." Sören folded his arms, rocking back on his heels. "He's less of a fuckup."  
  
"I wouldn't call you a fuckup, Sören." Dooku paused. "A fuckup couldn't make a bowl like the one I saw in your kitchen."  
  
"It's just a bowl. You're too nice."  
  
"I can tell a lot of work went into it. I'd still like to see more of your art."  
  
"Sometime." Sören nodded, and now he did go to his door. "Thank you for dinner, and for..." He looked like he was searching for the right word. "Everything."  
  
"You're welcome. Thank you for keeping me company this evening." Dooku's heart started to race again. "We should do that again sometime."  
  
"Jæja, we should." Sören tried to smile but his face was tight. He gave a small wave. "Goodnight, Nicolae."  
  
"Goodnight, Sören."  
  
Dooku watched Sören step into his house and close the door behind him, and he let out a deep sigh. He still lingered for a moment, until he wondered why he was still hanging about, and went back to his house, face burning all the way.


	10. Two Steps Back

**Two Steps Back**

  
  
  
The week wore on. Dooku saw Sören in the canteen on Friday and they had lunch together. Mostly talking about the news, and the weather, but it was still something. And at the end of it, Dooku finally got the nerve to ask Sören to spend time with him again.  
  
"Would you like to get together this weekend?" Dooku asked. "Go for a little drive, perhaps." He thought for a moment. "Cannon Beach. It would be a day trip with the driving there and back, but it might be nice to see the ocean after everything -"  
  
"Jæja, I'd..." Sören gave that shy, sweet smile that took his breath away. "I'd like that a lot. That's very nice of you, Nicolae."  
  
"You deserve someone being nice to you."  
  
Sören's eyes narrowed and he scowled. "I don't want your pity -"  
  
"Oh, _for fuck's sake_, Sören." Dooku didn't like reverting to vulgarity but there it was. "I told you I'd like to be your friend. It isn't _pity_."  
  
Sören took a deep breath. "Sorry. I just..." He frowned and looked down. "I have a hard time believing anyone would voluntarily spend time with me unless..." His voice trailed off.  
  
"Well, I'd like to spend time with you. I'd like to take you someplace peaceful, like Cannon Beach. I think it would be good for you. For both of us - it would be stress-relieving for me as well." Dooku watched Sören's body language settle down, less defensive. "So, Sunday?"  
  
"All right." Sören nodded.  
  
"I'll pick you up Sunday morning..."  
  
"No earlier than 11 o'clock." Sören made a face. "I sleep in on the weekends." A lazy smile into his coffee. "I fucking hate mornings."  
  
Dooku chuckled at that. "Really. And you went into teaching -"  
  
"I love art more than I hate mornings, but, jæja, keeping a schedule that requires me to get up in the morning isn't my favorite. I'm a night owl, been that way since I was a kid. But anyway, 11 is good if that's good for you..."  
  
"It's good for me." Dooku immediately had a mental image of he and Sören laying side by side, naked, spent, breathing hard. _Was that good for you?_ His face burned. This wasn't a date, they were just friends, he was old enough to be Sören's father, and Dooku was still a virgin besides that. He hadn't wanted to take the risk of pursuing a partner in the days when being outed could cost him everything, then of course there was AIDS to worry about, and the life of an academic was such that he was rather married to his job, and by the time the world had come around and AIDS was less of a death sentence, life had passed him by. He was content to be Sören's friend. He needed friends. Sören needed a friend too. He couldn't be thinking about Sören like this.  
  
No, definitely not making sweet, slow, tender, sensual love to him - taking more care and consideration with Sören's body than Seth ever had, so that Sören wasn't "laying there like a dead fish" at all, but was writhing, moaning, panting... Dooku's cock was starting to wake up. He batted those thoughts away as quickly as he could, the way Beowulf would bat his toy mouse around in younger years.  
  
_He's too young for you, and he has those ridiculous plugs in his ears._ Dooku could see the tattoos poking out from Sören's long sleeves - flames on one arm, ocean waves on the other. _And he has tattoos. His hair is too long. He's a bit rough._  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Dooku saw Mark Lowry, the music theory professor - the tallest teacher on campus, even taller than Dooku's six feet five inches - dressed in his usual all black, the cut of his clothing showcasing a lean yet muscular, powerful build, long dark hair to the middle of his back in soft waves, cool grey eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Mark Lowry was in his early forties and as beautiful as a living statue, a sort of romantic elegance to him. His hair was too long too - longer than Sören's - and that never kept Dooku from ogling him around campus, feeling a bit wistful. Mark gave a small smile and nod to Dooku and Sören - Sören gave him that shy smile that made Dooku's heart skip a beat - and then Mark was off with a salad and a ginger ale. Dooku saw Sören watching Mark's firm, tight ass too, and then Sören looked away, blushing.  
  
"OK, so eleven on Sunday," Dooku said. "We can grab a bite to eat while we're out... Tillamook, perhaps."  
  
"Sounds good, and... I'll give you gas money."  
  
"There's no need. I'm fine -"  
  
"It's courtesy, Nicolae." Sören frowned. Then he gave a little sheepish smile, running a nervous hand through his curls. "Consider it my way of saying sorry for annoying you with my music."  
  
"In that case you can treat me to lunch too."  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. "You're on."  
  
  
_  
  
  
But they weren't on.  
  
The next evening, as Dooku was getting back from the store, he saw Seth's car in front of Sören's house.  
  
With disregard to the perishables he had in the trunk of his car, he banged on Sören's door, frantic. He pounded and pounded on the door. No response.  
  
Eventually Dooku gave up, and brought his groceries inside. His heart was pounding - he was in such a panic that he was still shaking when all the groceries were put away. He made tea, and as he sat down in the living room with a cuppa to calm his nerves, he thought about calling the police. But he knew, once again, that if the police came out there for a domestic both Sören and Seth would be getting arrested, and for an immigrant an arrest could be very bad, especially in this political climate.  
  
Dooku buried his face in his hands.  
  
He didn't sleep well. And at eleven o'clock Sunday morning, with Seth's car still parked outside Sören's house, he tried anyway, knocking on the door. He had a few rounds of knocking for a good ten minutes before Sören finally answered, in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. The T-shirt exposed more of the ink on his arms, and Dooku stared at it before he met Sören's eyes.  
  
"We can't," Sören said.  
  
"Sören." Dooku swallowed hard. "I thought you were done -"  
  
"You better go," Sören said in a flat voice, like he was a robot.  
  
"_Sören._" Dooku glared. "Sören. You can't be serious about taking him back..."  
  
Sören looked down, cringing slightly - looking like he was fighting back tears - and then he looked up and away, tears in his dark eyes. "You better go," Sören repeated, his voice raspy.  
  
Dooku went, his own eyes stinging with tears.  
  
  
_  
  
A week passed. Seth's car was there constantly, except for work hours, and Dooku wondered if Seth had moved in. Dooku tried to see Sören in his classroom that first week, and Sören wouldn't look at him, gave him the silent treatment.  
  
One week became two. And then on a Tuesday morning, before he got in his Jaguar to drive to the university, he stopped at the curb to put out his trash and recycling since Tuesday was collections day. He usually thought nothing of it, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed several boxes on the curb in front of Sören's house, in addition to Sören's own garbage and recycling cans out on the curb, and full.  
  
Both Sören's and Seth's cars were gone, indicating they'd both went to work.  
  
Not able to help himself, Dooku made his way over, and when he saw what was in the boxes he had a sinking feeling in his stomach, a wave of nausea gripping him. "Oh no," he said out loud.  
  
The first thing he noticed was the bowl he'd admired in the kitchen - still intact, with the cactus in it. There were other pieces of pottery. Bowls, jars, vases, plates. They were all gorgeous. Dooku took a plate out of a box, glazed in greens and blues with a swirling spiral pattern, a piece that looked ancient and modern all at once. He flipped it over and saw Norse futhark runes on the bottom, which he assumed was Sören's signature.  
  
In other boxes were paintings. Some of them were framed, most were canvases. The one that caught his eye first was a black sand beach, the Northern Lights in the sky over the waves, and flying out of the aurora was what looked like two phoenixes, but instead of burning orange fire they were burning with the aurora. It was a gorgeous painting and looked photorealistic - even the phoenixes looked real. The same Norse futhark runes were in the bottom righthand corner of the painting.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Dooku said under his breath. Sören was throwing these away?  
  
More likely, Seth was.  
  
Cursing under his breath, Dooku began to bring in the boxes, trying to move as quickly as he could. When he'd salvaged all of the boxes with pottery and paintings in them, the boxes sitting by the front door, Dooku could feel tears coming on. And as he drove to the university, he wept.  
  
Dooku managed to pull himself together for the school day, but when his classes let up he tried again, going down to Sören's classroom. Sören once again proceeded to try to ignore him, and Dooku wasn't accepting that this time.  
  
"Sören, look at me."  
  
Sören wouldn't.  
  
"All right, then don't look at me. But I'm not going away. I saw what you left for the trash collector this morning. Your art. Your beautiful, wonderful art. _Why?_"  
  
"Seth thought it was trash," Sören said flatly.  
  
"_He's trash._" Dooku wanted to _kill_ Seth. "Sören. _Why_ is he back in your life. _Why is he living with you?_ I don't understand. If he won't leave you alone, let me help you -"  
  
Sören finally looked at him. "Nobody can help me, Nicolae."  
  
"I sure as hell can try." Dooku's voice was shaking with anger, his fists clenching. "Sören. You can't let him do this to you."  
  
Sören shrugged, and looked away. "You better go."  
  
"Sören. Don't shut me out. _Please._" He started walking towards Sören. He reached out and put a hand on Sören's shoulder, his arm -  
  
Sören wrenched away, and shoved him away, hard. And then Sören's jaw dropped, as if he was surprised by his own reaction. "I." Sören swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Sören, I understand. I should have asked first..." Fight or flight. It pained Dooku that Sören was so traumatized this was how he responded, but he knew it wasn't Sören's fault, he didn't ask for this. "Sören. Please. I'm your friend. Let me help -"  
  
"Leave me alone, Nicolae." Sören turned his back. "Please go away."  
  
Dooku sighed. "Sören."  
  
"_Go._"  
  
Dooku left, his eyes stinging with tears again. It was all he could do not to go back to Sören's classroom, drag Sören out to his Jaguar, and make Sören go home with him, before finding Seth and raising hell.


	11. Cause for Concern

**Cause for Concern**

  
  
  
October became November. It rained all month, which fit Dooku's mood. He tried to distract himself but he thought about Sören frequently, worrying about him, hurting for him.  
  
Sören avoided him as much as possible - Dooku noticed Sören wasn't even going to the canteen on his break - and Dooku tried a few more times to show up at Sören's classroom and talk to him, but Sören ignored him.  
  
As Dooku was checking the schedule on one of the bulletin boards one afternoon, he saw Sören's birthday was coming up soon - Friday, November twenty-fifth. Though it was Black Friday and most places would be closed, there were some classes being held that day; Dooku was one of the ones still having classes, since he'd spent too many Thanksgivings alone to be arsed with the holiday. Sören was also having classes that day. And even though Seth was still living next door and Sören was giving Dooku the silent treatment, Dooku nonetheless felt the need to try again... a reminder that he still cared. That his offer to help still stood.  
  
So the night before Sören's birthday, on Thanksgiving, Dooku made a small batch of cupcakes. He didn't know what flavor Sören liked, so he went with the classic chocolate. And obnoxious green frosting, like the neon green of Sören's car - Dooku had a feeling Sören would appreciate that. He added M&Ms.  
  
He showed up early to work the next morning, letting himself in Sören's classroom, and left a Tupperware container with the cupcakes on Sören's desk, and a note. He'd wanted to buy a card, but he had a feeling Seth would give Sören trouble if there was physical evidence they'd talked.  
  
After he brought the cupcakes to Sören's desk and walked out of the classroom, he found himself weeping. He let himself in the men's room and let it out, crying, not caring for once who saw him being so undignified.  
  
On Monday, Dooku had his break in the canteen as usual and when he returned to his classroom, he found the empty Tupperware container, clean - with googly eyes affixed. And a note. It was a simple heart, done in blue - Sören was observant enough with what he'd seen of Dooku's home to know he favored blues. Blue flame, a bright white eight-spoked star in the center, a touch of iridescent rainbow in the star.  
  
It felt like such a silly, sentimental thing to do, but Dooku hugged the note, and when he lifted it up to look at it again he swore he could smell Sören's cologne, spicy floral notes. His cock stirred, breathing it in, wanting to smell it on Sören's bare skin.  
  
_Stop that._  
  
Dooku put the slip of paper in his wallet, intending to keep it. Sören was still avoiding him, god knew why, but at least there was this. This was a sign, somehow, that Sören was still in there, beneath the silence.  
  
Dooku didn't know how, but he was going to try to fight for him. He had to think of a plan.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The first weekend of December, there was freezing rain. Dooku's Saturday afternoon was disturbed by the sound of Seth and Sören arguing, and Dooku came out of his house, intending to go over there. He came out just in time to see Seth and Sören also leaving the house, with Sören in resigned silence. Seth glared at him, before getting in the passenger's seat of Sören's car.  
  
The hours passed. Night came, and Sören's car was still gone. That was odd. Dooku wondered if they'd gone away for the weekend - the thought gave him a sick feeling - but he hadn't seen them carrying anything that looked like luggage or overnight bags, the back of Sören's car was empty.  
  
Sunday, Sören's car was still gone. Even into late Sunday evening. Monday morning, Sören's car was still gone.  
  
Dooku came into work feeling like he was made out of lead. He had a bad feeling - wondering if Seth had dragged Sören off somewhere and killed him.  
  
There was no 24-hour waiting period to report someone missing in the state of Oregon, but Dooku still felt like he needed to wait before getting the police involved. Maybe they really _did_ just go away for the weekend, a "romantic getaway" as a belated birthday gesture, another meaningless "baby I've changed" gesture.  
  
On Tuesday Sören's car was still missing, but Seth's car was gone too. Dooku had his break in the canteen, feeling disgruntled, weighing the decision to call the police. Then he had a rare sighting - Jocasta Newman, the dean, a woman his age. Her silver hair was up in its usual no-nonsense bun with two hairsticks, and she wore a brightly patterned shawl over a neutral pantsuit.  
  
"Dean Newman," Dooku said.  
  
"Professor Dooku. Good afternoon." Jocasta gave him a tight smile. "How are you?"  
  
"Fine." Dooku wasn't fine, really. He hated small talk and decided to get right to the chase with one of the few people who would have some kind of answer for him. "Dean Newman, do you have a moment?"  
  
She sat, fixing her coffee. The canteen coffee was dreadful, and people drank it anyway. "What is it."  
  
"It's a bit of an odd question, but I have reason to be asking it." Dooku took a deep breath. "Professor Sören Sigurdsson is my next-door neighbor and his vehicle has been missing since Saturday. It's now Tuesday. Did he call out...?"  
  
She nodded. "He was in a car accident."


	12. Thunderstruck

**Thunderstruck**

  
  
  
  
That same day, as soon as he was done with work, Dooku took the gamble of driving to the hospital. It was a bit of a gamble, not knowing if Sören was at the local hospital in Corvallis or if the accident had happened farther out and he was in Portland or somewhere else. And if he wasn't in Corvallis, it was going to be risky to drive farther out, after the freezing rains all weekend that had created patches of black ice. As it was, Dooku drove excruciatingly slowly to the hospital when every nerve in his body was screaming _Go faster. Step on it._  
  
At the desk Dooku said, "I'm here to see Sören Sigurdsson, if he was admitted. Please tell him it's Nicolae Dooku."  
  
He waited in the lobby for close to twenty minutes and then a nurse came out and gestured for him to follow.  
  
All the way to the hospital room Dooku's heart was in his stomach and his stomach was in his feet, worst-case scenarios playing through his mind of Sören paralyzed, mangled...  
  
Sören was hurt less badly than he thought, half-sitting half-laying in a hospital bed, bandaged ribs. His left arm was in a sling. He gave Dooku a wan smile.  
  
"May we have some privacy?" Dooku asked the nurse.  
  
The nurse gave Sören a worried look. Sören nodded at her. "It's OK," he said.  
  
The nurse left them and Dooku pulled up a steel folding chair, sitting at Sören's bedside. He reached for Sören's right hand and for a moment he just stroked Sören's hand without thinking much about what he was doing, looking into Sören's eyes. His own eyes started to tear up. At last Sören squeezed his hand and let go, reaching for a glass of ice water.  
  
"How bad is it?" Dooku asked.  
  
"Concussion, dislocated shoulder, four broken ribs." Sören frowned. "Some wounds from the windshield shattering which needed stitches. Otherwise... well, I was lucky. My car was totaled."  
  
"What happened to..."  
  
"_Amazingly_, he only had a few scrapes." Sören's frown deepened.  
  
"Which would explain why his own car is missing, I assume he's gone to work and such, then."  
  
"Yeah." Sören looked down and sighed.  
  
Dooku's jaw set. He felt that rage building up again. "Sören... answer me honestly. I know there was black ice out there, but... the accident was Seth's fault, wasn't it?"  
  
After a moment Sören nodded. He looked away - far away. Sören's body began to tense, and Sören winced in pain. "He..." Sören swallowed hard. "I didn't want to drive out there in the first place in that weather. We were fighting about that before we left. Then he got on my shit in the car because I was driving too slow..."  
  
"Jesus Christ."  
  
Sören looked back at Dooku. Their eyes met. "He went off on me. All the usual shit he says, now with an added dose of calling me a coward. He hit me, and something in my brain just snapped and I hit him back, for the first time. He started choking me and I lost control of the wheel. Which was also when I hit a patch of that black ice that was 'worrying about nothing'."  
  
Dooku's fists clenched. He made an inhuman growl.  
  
"The police just assume, of course, that it was a regular road accident." Sören sighed.  
  
"When are you being discharged?" Dooku asked.  
  
"Tomorrow. I'm taking the rest of the week off from work and then winter break starts after the 12th, which is fine 'cos it's six weeks to heal from broken ribs and about twelve weeks to fully heal from the shoulder, even after being reset. That's the nice thing about teaching, though, when we're back in session in January I should be fine to go back, my job's not super strenuous."  
  
Dooku's brow furrowed. "I'll come pick you up when you're ready to go. But... you're not going back to Seth."  
  
Sören pursed his lips.  
  
Dooku couldn't believe he was offering this. "Come stay with me for a few weeks, while you heal. Through the holidays. I'm always alone for the holidays, and you're not really in a position to take care of yourself all banged up."  
  
"You... you don't have to do that..."  
  
"Yes. I do."  
  
Sören looked down.  
  
"I believe this entire holiday season is about celebrating the birth of a boy whose parents had no place to go and were taken in by a kind stranger. We're not exactly strangers -"  
  
"I'm not exactly Jesus," Sören said. Then with his good arm he pulled up the blue hospital blanket around himself, like a cloak, face sticking out. "Do I make a convincing Mary?"  
  
Dooku facepalmed. It was so bad - especially with Sören's facial hair - and he couldn't help laughing. It felt good to laugh. It was remarkable that Sören could find humor, somehow, in this situation.  
  
When Sören put the blanket back down and their eyes met, Dooku felt a wistful pang, seeing Sören smile. He wanted to make Sören smile like that more often. He wanted very much to make him happy.  
  
"But it's not simply some do-gooder urge I have, Sören. You're a friend. I care about what happens to you. And I'm afraid for you." Dooku's voice broke. He felt tears coming on again, tears reflected in Sören's own dark eyes. This time Sören was the one to reach for his hand. "He. Put. You. In. A. Fucking. _Car. Accident_. He could have _killed_ you, Sören."  
  
"I know." Sören closed his eyes, tears silently streaming down his face. "I know."  
  
"So when you're discharged tomorrow... I'll come get you. I will take you to your house, help you pack some things, and then... you stay with me for awhile. I'll take care of you. OK?"  
  
Sören nodded. "OK."  
  
Then Dooku realized something. "You don't have my cell number and I don't have yours."  
  
They exchanged numbers. The nurse came back with medication for Sören, who took it with more water. Dooku looked at the time. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"Jæja... Sprite? Ginger ale? Something sweet with bubbles. Doritos too." Sören laughed softly. "The pain meds are making me all stoned, I want munchies."  
  
Dooku smiled - something about Sören right now was adorable to him, and he felt indulgent, like when his cat was being cute.  
  
"My wallet is on the table over there..."  
  
"I'll pay," Dooku said. "I'll be right back."  
  
Dooku went to the lobby, bought 20 ounce bottles of Sprite and ginger ale, and a couple small bags of Doritos of different flavors. He came back and Sören's face lit up. It made Dooku sad that something so small would make him that happy.  
  
Dooku did the courtesy of opening a bottle and a bag, and he watched as Sören started nibbling. Sören held out the bag to him with his good hand. Dooku politely refused.  
  
_Dr. Phil_ was on the TV in the hospital room, though neither of them were really paying attention to it, and then Sören finally noticed it and laughed. "Jesus Fucking Christ, I need Dr. Phil," Sören said, rolling his eyes.  
  
Dooku patted him. "The road to recovery starts here, Sören. You'll be away from Seth, and... with time, he'll fade out of your life."  
  
"He may not give up so easily," Sören said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Dooku's jaw clenched. "I'll deal with him," Dooku said through grit teeth.  
  
Oh, _how_ he was going to deal with Seth Robinson.


	13. Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)

**Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)**

  
  
  
Sören was discharged from the hospital on Wednesday while Dooku was still at school. Dooku sent back a text message letting Sören know he'd be there as soon as he was done, and when he left the university he went straight to the hospital. Sören was waiting in the lobby, and Dooku led him to the car, helping him get in, feeling bad when Sören winced with pain at the shift in his position even though he knew it couldn't be helped. Dooku put Sören's seatbelt on for him, his face burning and stomach turning flip-flops again at the incidental physical contact; he felt like his entire body was buzzing when he got in the driver's seat.  
  
They went to Sören's house first. Seth's car wasn't there, which was a good sign. Dooku and Sören went down to his bedroom and got out a laundry basket, a duffel bag, and a couple of suitcases. Sören did what he could but with his ribs and shoulder it wasn't much, and he kept apologizing to Dooku after each bundle Dooku collected and packed, until Dooku finally glared at him and said, "Stop apologizing."  
  
"Sorry," Sören mumbled, looking down.  
  
After Sören's clothes were packed, Sören had another request. "There's a shoebox in my closet," he said, "and underneath that is a safe. I want both, please."  
  
Dooku put them on top of the laundry basket.  
  
On the way out Sören made a gesture to stop in the living room. He wandered over to his bookshelf, and pulled out a large hardbound book. Dooku wondered about it, and then he watched as Sören opened the book - it was hollow - and he produced three sketchpads and a box of professional-grade colored pencils.  
  
Dooku wondered why Sören was hiding these things in a hollowed-out fake book. "Oh. Where's your other art supplies? Canvases, paints..."  
  
Sören swallowed hard. "This is all I have now. Seth threw everything out."  
  
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose and swore under his breath. "That day he threw out your art..."  
  
"...the supplies themselves were in the garbage bin. Not that I've been painting much anyway." Sören looked down.  
  
Dooku felt horrible for not going through Sören's garbage bin when he salvaged the art on the curb. He knew that art supplies weren't the cheapest to come by depending on what they were, and even though Sören could afford it on a professor's salary that wasn't the point. It was the disrespect of the act, the _violence_ of it. After having seen Sören's ceramics and paintings, which were exquisite, what Seth had done felt like blasphemy.  
  
"Two of these sketchbooks are full," Sören said. "I keep them out of sentimental value 'cos I brought them from Iceland. They've got sketches of my family and some other stuff."  
  
Dooku felt like hugging Sören, but did not.  
  
Sören walked to the front door of Dooku's house and waited. From the front door of Sören's house Dooku wheeled the luggage, then came back for the duffel bag, then the basket. He let them in and wheeled in the luggage first, then carried in the duffel bag and then the basket last, setting them down in the living room. "Last night I went out and bought an air mattress," Dooku told Sören, "which is in the spare bedroom, but also the couch in the living room folds out to a bed. You have the choice of what would be more comfortable for you..."  
  
"It would probably be easier for me to get up and down from the couch bed than something lower to the floor," Sören said, "but thank you for the air mattress anyway."  
  
Dooku nodded. "I'll make the bed for you when you're ready. In the meantime, coffee? Tea?" He paused, remembering another thing he'd picked up for Sören last night. "Hot chocolate?"  
  
Sören's face lit up. "Hot chocolate would be lovely, _takk._"  
  
Dooku went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. He brought out two mugs when it was ready. "This isn't the sort of thing I usually indulge in, but I thought you might like it so I picked some up -" He stopped in his tracks; Sören was sobbing. "Sören? What's wrong?"  
  
Sören pointed to the boxes of his artwork, which were still by the door. "You. You saved those."  
  
Dooku put the mugs of hot chocolate down on the coffee table, sat next to Sören on the couch, and reached out, gingerly pulling Sören over to lean on his shoulder. It wasn't quite a hug, but he was worried about aggravating Sören's injuries. Sören wept harder, and Dooku found himself tousling Sören's curls. Beowulf climbed up on the couch and onto Sören, purring, and Sören began stroking the cat.  
  
"I don't know what to say," Sören croaked. "'Thank you' doesn't seem like enough. I can't believe you saved it..."  
  
"Why the hell not? Your work is beautiful." _You're beautiful._  
  
"Seth didn't think so."  
  
"Seth's soul is so ugly he can't appreciate your art," Dooku said. He reached for the hot chocolate on the coffee table, putting a mug in Sören's hands. "I'll admit, before we became friends, I was skeptical as to whether or not you had any talent, from what I saw of your car. Very gaudy, very _nouveau riche_ -"  
  
Sören gave him a filthy look. "You know that's classist as fuck, right?"  
  
Dooku's mouth went dry, and his heart sank. He'd prided himself on being progressive - even as he knew many of his fellow progressives had blind spots... and here was one of his own. He'd never had a problem with poor people, but he came from the kind of old money that favored elegant simplicity and not flaunting wealth.  
  
"God forbid people enjoy their money," Sören said between sips of his hot chocolate.  
  
"Fair," Dooku conceded with a sigh, feeling a little ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry."  
  
Sören patted him.  
  
"Anyway," Dooku went on, "I judged a book by its cover, and realized I'd judged wrongly when I saw that bowl in your kitchen. And then when I found your art... it's exquisite. And it hurt my heart to see it being thrown away. I had to do something."  
  
"I appreciate it. Though, I think Seth got to me so much I can't make art anymore. I took the sketchbooks in case it comes back, but." Sören sighed.  
  
The mention of Seth got Dooku on edge again. "Sören," Dooku said, "Seth was living with you this past month, yes?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"Was he on the lease?"  
  
"No," Sören said.  
  
"Does he have anywhere else to go? Is your house the only place he has?"  
  
"He was living with a friend of his in Portland and I presume he'd be back there when I'm not around, but he has to know I'd be discharged from the hospital soon so it's anybody's guess when he'll be back at my place."  
  
"You need to change your locks."  
  
"I know." Sören cringed. "Like I said when shit went down in October, the landlord won't let me do it myself and he gets to it whenever -"  
  
"Put me on the phone with your landlord. I want to have a few words with him."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Dooku was able to impress upon Sören's landlord that he needed the locks changed _that night_, and Dooku and Sören came out to watch the locksmith. Sören's landlord came by for a copy of the new keys, and then back in Dooku's house Sören hyperventilated, and Dooku guided him through some deep breaths to calm down.  
  
"Sorry," Sören said again. "I think the locks really hit home for me that he's going to be gone from my life for good, and every time I feel any kind of relief anymore I start to panic, like it's the calm before the next storm..."  
  
Dooku felt for him. "God, Sören."  
  
"What did you even say to the guy to get him off his arse...?"  
  
"I told him you were in danger from an ex stalking you -"  
  
"Oh Jesus Christ, Nicolae, I don't like to get into my personal business with people -"  
  
"It needed to be done. You may not like that blow to your pride, but it is not the time or the place for that. I had a feeling that if your landlord had a shred of decency he'd understand this had to be done sooner." Dooku pursed his lips. "I also told him if he didn't, he would need to look for a new tenant."  
  
Sören scowled. "And where would I go?"  
  
"You could stay here."  
  
"I haven't even gotten through the first night yet, never mind me staying with you for months." Sören narrowed his eyes. "You hated me until not that long ago."  
  
"I don't hate you now," Dooku said, his voice soft.  
  
Sören looked down.  
  
"We should figure out dinner," Dooku said. "I'd offer to take you out, but that would mean having to get in the car again..."  
  
"Jæja, not really up for that."  
  
"Shall we order out?"  
  
"You good with pizza?"  
  
Dooku didn't eat pizza, as a rule, but he decided to break his rule this evening. Sören placed the call, and they even ate in the living room together - another rule broken - though Dooku still ate his with a knife and fork, which made Sören laugh hysterically at the formality of it.  
  
Beowulf begged, and Dooku got up to give the cat a treat from his pouch of cat treats. Sören gave him one too, and then Beowulf stole a piece of cheese anyway.  
  
It was so good to hear Sören laugh again.  
  
After dinner they watched _Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home_ on DVD, with more hot chocolate. Halfway through the movie Sören took medication - a combination of psych meds and something for the pain of his injuries - and by the time the credits rolled Sören was dozing off a little. Dooku gently shook him. "I'll make your bed now."  
  
Sören sat in the recliner as Dooku went to the linen closet and came back with sheets, blankets, and pillows. Sören gave Beowulf more pettings, talking to him in baby talk, and Dooku's heart melted. When the bed was all made Sören asked, "Nicolae? This is going to sound really, ah, I don't know, but I need help." He gestured to the flannel shirt he was wearing. "These were the clothes I had when I got in the accident and a nurse helped me get dressed, since my arm and everything."  
  
Dooku tried to be clinical about it, but as he unbuttoned Sören's shirt his mind went into the gutter. Even moreso when the shirt was undone, exposing Sören's creamy flesh, and when the shirt was off and Dooku brought over a T-shirt for him, he tried not to stare and failed. The sleeve tattoos on Sören's arms went all the way up, the flames on one arm and ocean waves on the other leading to a pair of phoenixes on his back, one made of fire and one made of water, their tails entwined. And Sören had more piercings than the gauge plugs in his ears - his nipples were pierced, with steel captive bead rings. In the chill of the evening, Sören's nipples were hard.  
  
Dooku never in his life thought he'd find tattoos and piercings attractive, but on Sören's body it was art. They were exotic, interesting... very interesting. Even with bandaged ribs, Sören was sexy. Dooku was starting to get hard. His hard-on throbbed when Sören took off his jeans and the outline of his boxer-briefs revealed a ring in the head of his cock.  
  
"Can you do me one last favor?" Sören asked.  
  
Dooku was almost hoping Sören would ask for sexual release, feverishly wanting to get down on his knees and...  
  
_What the hell is wrong with you, he could be your son._  
  
"The shoebox in the basket, can you bring it over?"  
  
Dooku did, and he watched as Sören opened the shoebox. Inside was Sören's Eeyore doll, and a pillowcase that looked like it had something in it. Sören took out Eeyore and hugged and rocked the doll with his good arm.  
  
"Seth wanted me to get rid of it, and I hid it," Sören said.  
  
Dooku's lust was now mingled with that heart-melting feeling at Sören being adorable, and a strong protective urge... and rage.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören said. "I know this is stupid -"  
  
"It's not." Dooku thought about showing Sören his ancient bear Winston, and decided he'd do that another time. Sören needed his rest, and he needed to get out of here before he was tempted to do something stupid like invite Sören into his own bed. "Seth is stupid."  
  
Sören sighed.  
  
Dooku didn't quite have a plan yet on how to deal with him, but he knew it had to be done. He thought for a moment, getting the first bits of a plan together in his head. He needed information. "He's so stupid I can't believe he even manages to hold down a job. Where does he work, anyway?"  
  
"Apple, in Portland."  
  
"That's a bit of a daily commute then, when he's been coming here." Portland was roughly an hour and a half drive one way.  
  
Sören nodded. "I never heard the end of it, either. He kept trying to get me to move to Portland, transfer out to working at the university there, but... no. I like to visit Portland but I don't want to live in a big city again. I like Corvallis."  
  
The way Sören said the word "city" in his accent - _see-tee_ \- made Dooku melt again. This was dangerous. He was almost starting to regret asking Sören to stay with him. But not quite, really.  
  
"So he works at Apple, then?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Dooku put that information on file in his head. He knew Seth's last name only because, several months ago, a package had been accidentally delivered on his doorstep, with Seth's name on it. Of course, calling Apple to complain about their employee Seth Robinson might not work as intended. But he remembered what Seth's car looked like...  
  
"I'll let you go to bed," Dooku said then. "Sleep well, Sören."  
  
It took awhile for Dooku to get to sleep himself, keyed up. Planning. Waiting.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Dooku decided to take Friday off, even though as a rule he didn't take days off unless he was ill. But it was fine, as it was the last day of school before winter break, and it wasn't really an important class that day. He didn't tell Sören about this, leaving at his usual time for work... but instead of driving to the university in Corvallis as usual, he took the highway, heading north to Portland.  
  
He went to Apple and just drove through the parking lot to see if he could spot Seth's car. He did, and smiled to himself. He had time to kill, so he'd be back.  
  
He went to Powell's City of Books, making a mental note to go here with Sören when Sören was more on the mend. He had coffee upstairs in the cafeteria, and spent time browsing, at last making a purchase of a few Ursula K. LeGuin books he hadn't read yet, and on impulse he picked up an adult coloring book for Sören and a box of 120 Crayola crayons. He felt a little sheepish about it, but he wondered if it might help ease Sören back into making art again.  
  
He went to the waterfront and sat for awhile, watching the river, collecting his thoughts. As much rage as he felt - and would need to draw upon later - he had to be calm about this, initially. One false move and things could go very, very badly.  
  
When it got closer to the time, Dooku parked in an empty stall of Apple's lot not terribly far from Seth's car. He sat in his car and waited, watching for when Seth got out of the building.  
  
As he saw Seth walk towards his car - chatting on his cell phone - Dooku got out, quietly. He heard Seth say "I gotta go, I'm about to drive," and hit End, still distracted. That served Dooku's plan well.  
  
Dooku didn't like guns - so uncivilized - but he had a concealed carry permit, and he withdrew the revolver now and when Seth was at the driver's seat about to get in, Dooku stepped behind him and pressed the barrel of his gun against the small of Seth's back. Seth froze.  
  
"You're coming with me," Dooku said.  
  
Dooku began to march Seth towards his own car, keeping the gun low against Seth's back, his arm close to hide the gun. "If you scream, it will be the last sound you make," Dooku said through grit teeth. With the butt of the pistol he nudged Seth to the passenger's seat. "Get in."  
  
Dooku started to drive, and Seth fidgeted uncomfortably in the passenger's seat. "Where are we going?" Seth asked.  
  
Dooku wouldn't answer.  
  
"Look, man, whatever he told you, he's lying..."  
  
Dooku glared. "I saw you hit him. I've heard the things you've said to him. Don't play that game with me, you've already lost."  
  
Seth took a deep breath. "This is kidnapping, and kidnapping is illegal..."  
  
"What you've been doing to Sören the last while is plenty illegal." Dooku looked at the passenger door. "If you try to make a break and run for it, I'll shoot you and I'll put your prints on the gun to make it look like a suicide."  
  
"You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?"  
  
"Not if you cooperate." _But you'll wish I had._  
  
Dooku drove out of Portland, heading on US Route 26, driving for awhile in stony silence. He knew where he was going, even though it had been some years - he'd been out here a few times with his fellow professor and former student Joaquin "Qui-Gon" Gonzalez, before Qui-Gon's wife Tahl had died in an accident and Qui-Gon had withdrawn into himself. They used to like to drive out to see the stars without much light pollution and talk about life, the universe, and everything. Dooku missed Qui-Gon now, though he saw him around campus. And this was certainly not an act that Qui-Gon would approve of.  
  
He didn't need anyone's damn approval.  
  
He drove slower, looking for the mouth to turn off, knowing it was closer. It was getting dark now. That was perfect.  
  
When he found the mouth he turned, and drove slowly into the forest, on the dirt road. Seth was looking more and more nervous, and Dooku was fading out of calm and into rage. Finally he stopped the car, turned off the engine - leaving his headlights on - and produced his pistol again. "Get out," he said. "Hands behind your head where I can see them."  
  
Seth did as he was told. Once Dooku was out of the car, still keeping the pistol on Seth, he said, "Up against the car."  
  
Seth backed up to lean against the car.  
  
"Hand me your cell phone and your wallet," Dooku said.  
  
"You... what, no, come on -"  
  
Dooku gestured with the pistol. "Do it."  
  
Seth handed them over. As soon as they were in Dooku's possession, he backhanded Seth with the gun, and then hit him in the head with it again.  
  
Dooku shoved Seth onto his knees and began pistol-whipping him, again and again. Making Seth's nose bleed. Breaking Seth's nose. Hearing him sob in agony. "Please, stop," Seth begged.  
  
"Did you stop when Sören asked you to stop hitting him? I'm guessing not." Dooku kicked him in the stomach. When Seth went down on the ground Dooku began stomping on him again and again - he'd worn boots today. Seth let out a shriek when Dooku stepped on his balls, crushing them.  
  
"Please," Seth choked out. "Please..."  
  
With his boot, Dooku started to roll Seth over and once Seth was on his stomach Dooku resumed stomping on him, kicking him in the spine.  
  
He watched as Seth lay there cowering. He wasn't done yet. He let Seth hear his finger on the trigger. "Take your clothes off."  
  
"What."  
  
"You heard me. Take your clothes off. Now."  
  
Seth looked up with terror in his eyes. "What the fuck, man? You gonna rape me?"  
  
Dooku sneered. "I wouldn't touch you if you were the last hole on Earth. Take your clothes off, or I'll start taking your fingers off."  
  
Seth began to undress. Dooku was repulsed at the very sight of him - he was glad it was dark now, what he could see with his headlights made him physically nauseated. Seth wasn't an ugly man, apart from his now-broken nose that was still bleeding, but Seth himself was an ugly person, on the inside, and that made him hideous to Dooku. Still, there was a method to his madness. When Seth was down to his underwear and socks, he gave Dooku a pleading look.  
  
"No," Dooku said. "All of it. Now."  
  
"You've got to be shitting me -"  
  
"_Now._" Dooku came closer, pointing the gun between Seth's eyes.  
  
Seth peeled off his underwear, and at last his socks.  
  
Dooku took Seth's shoes and clothing and threw it in the back seat of his car. Then he took a few photos of Seth with his cell phone camera... before hitting him in the face with his pistol again. Dooku forced Seth back onto his knees, pistol-whipped him some more, kicked him to the ground, and kicked him while he was down. He watched as Seth spat out his two front teeth, sobbing helplessly.  
  
"This is what you're going to do now," Dooku said. "Presuming you can make it out of here alive tonight and not die of hypothermia, you're going to go back to Portland, get your things, and leave town. Leave this part of the state altogether, so Sören can't run into you. You have three days, and I'll be checking to make sure that you did. If you don't... I have a group of friends who will be coming for you." They were more acquaintances than friends, but that hardly mattered right now - what mattered was they would be glad to rough up Seth even more if paid well. "What I did here now will look like a kindness when they're through with you, presuming you survive. And if you go to the police about me, I have an alibi, and it will end up very bad for you, one way or the other, you'll be the one going to jail. The only reason why I'm not killing you tonight is because death is too good for you. I want you to have to live with the trauma of what happened to you, the way Sören has to live with the trauma of what happened to him. You see, Seth, you may think you're a big, bad predator, but there are always bigger, badder predators on the food chain, and you hurt someone I care for and have attracted the attention of a very big, very bad predator who has the favor of even bigger and badder predators than myself and will set them upon you if you don't do as I say. If you don't leave town, and if you don't leave Sören alone, permanently, you're going to hurt, worse than you are now. So be a good boy and do as you're told."  
  
Dooku got in the car then - locking the doors as soon as he did, so Seth couldn't try to get inside. It was going to be a very cold night tonight, temperatures expected to drop into the teens Fahrenheit. It was already quite cold. Dooku put his gun away and flexed his fingers in their warm gloves.  
  
Seth - naked, beaten, bleeding - cried out as Dooku's Jaguar pulled out and back onto the dirt road, and Dooku smiled to himself, laughing when he got back on the highway.  
  
The laughter faded quickly, as he drove again. Beating Seth had been the easy part. Helping Sören heal... trying to make him feel safe again... that would be much harder.


	14. Lights

**Lights**

  
  
  
That weekend, Dooku was a bit on edge - even though he'd planned things carefully with handling Seth, he knew there was still a small chance Seth would risk going to the police, or would flat-out just show up himself and try to raise hell. So every time a car drove through the neighborhood, Dooku jumped a little. It got to the point where on Sunday evening, Sören noticed enough to say something about it.  
  
Dooku wasn't ready to tell him yet why he'd been late getting back on Friday, wanting to wait to make sure Seth was well and truly gone before he'd deliver the news. So he told Sören a half-truth. "I keep wondering if Seth will come back."  
  
"Jæja, me too." Sören sighed.  
  
"I bet." Dooku felt that sharp ache again; he could only imagine what kind of hell Sören had been through the last while. "We could both use a distraction, I think."  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Dooku thought then about bringing out the little gift he'd picked up for Sören at Powell's City of Books on Friday. But not only would he have to explain to Sören that he'd been at Powell's recently - which would raise questions about his activity - he didn't know if Sören would think it was stupid or perhaps even insulting, getting him a coloring book of mandalas and a box of crayons.  
  
And he felt painfully self-conscious around the younger man. He'd lived a very solitary existence, only occasionally entertaining guests over the years, and since Qui-Gon had retreated into himself after his wife's death, it had been some time. It wasn't simply that he wasn't used to having a houseguest staying with him, he didn't know how to be a host anymore, apart from ensuring Sören was well-fed and that his bed was warm enough.  
  
Not to mention that he wasn't used to being in such close proximity to someone he was increasingly finding very, very attractive. Helping Sören take his clothes off and put them on was a special kind of torture; on Friday night when he'd gotten back from beating the hell out of Seth he'd helped Sören change his bandages and he'd been so keyed up from the adrenaline that touching Sören, seeing him fresh from the shower, in his underwear...  
  
...well, he was a man, and he had needs, and yet, he didn't want to make Sören feel uncomfortable by being inappropriate in any way. So when Dooku had gone to bed, not able to sleep, he took some time for "stress relief". Something he hadn't done in years, and certainly not to a real live person that he actually knew.  
  
He'd done it again last night, after helping Sören undress and get his nightclothes on.  
  
He was reminded of that now, sitting across from Sören, feeling so sad for the younger man whose art was so full of life and energy and passion, and seemed so withdrawn and empty. The fantasy he'd had of pleasuring Sören, bringing out his wild side, hearing Sören beg for more...  
  
Sören cut into the remembrance of that forbidden fantasy, glancing around the living room. "So, when are you going to decorate for Christmas?"  
  
"I..." Dooku scowled. "I don't."  
  
"Oh. Sorry. Are you Jewish? Muslim?"  
  
"Um... no. I'm Orthodox... well, I was raised Orthodox, I'm rather lapsed now." Dooku gave a small, bitter laugh. He thought about telling Sören he was also a gay man and that was part of why he was lapsed, but he decided not to broach that subject now. "I celebrate Christmas, I just... haven't decorated in, well... I can't remember the last time."  
  
"What?" Sören's eyes widened. "Why not?"  
  
"As you know, I'm usually alone for the holidays, as I told you. So I haven't seen the point, when it's just me and my cat."  
  
"I still decorated when I lived alone," Sören said.  
  
Dooku looked down, feeling a bit guilty even though there was no reason to.  
  
"We should decorate this place for Christmas." Sören started giving him the sad puppydog eyes. "You won't be alone this year, after all."  
  
"I haven't any decorations -"  
  
"I've got some, in my hall closet, back at my place."  
  
They went out to Sören's house. Once inside Dooku and Sören's nostrils twitched - the smell of spoiling food came from the kitchen.  
  
"Oh, _shit_," Sören said. "There was the accident, then I cleared out to stay with you and was in such a panic about Seth I didn't think to clean out the fridge -"  
  
"It's... it's all right, Sören. These things happen."  
  
Sören gestured to the arm in a sling. "I'm not exactly of much use right now, like this. As it is you'll have to do most of the decorating -"  
  
"I don't mind cleaning your kitchen, Sören. You've been through a lot, so even if you weren't all banged up, I'd offer to do this for you. Sit down and relax, I'll take care of things."  
  
Sören sat in the living room and put on the stereo - putting on the classic rock station they both liked. Dooku set to work throwing out what was spoiled in Sören's fridge, giving it a wipe down, and took out the garbage bag and rolled the bin out to the curb. When he came back in Sören jumped, and Dooku sighed. It wasn't surprising that Sören was startled, even though he knew Dooku was going out and would be right back, it was just sad.  
  
It also broke the dam - Sören started to cry. Dooku came over and gently put a hand on the non-injured shoulder. "It's all right, Sören."  
  
"No, it's not all right. I can't clean out my own fridge, I jump at everything... I'm a fucking wreck, Nicolae. I'm sorry you have to see me like this."  
  
Dooku found himself touching Sören's face, even though it was like playing with a live wire, getting shocked, burned. His cock stirred uncomfortably. "You're in a bad way, and you can't help it. If you'd been paralyzed from the accident, would I tell you to get up and walk? No. What he did to you... you can't just get over it." Dooku gave a small, sad smile. "My parents were awful to me and I'm still not over it. I hardly expect you to be over your own abuse."  
  
Sören blubbered again, and Dooku put an arm around Sören, pulling him close, letting Sören lean on him, even as his cock was aching. He didn't want to lust after this man - that wasn't his motivation for helping, he wasn't a "Nice Guy" who expected sex in return for decent behavior. But oh, even in his tears, Sören was beautiful, like an angel fallen to Earth.  
  
"I'll get the decorations and then we can leave, yes?"  
  
There was a small metal cart in Sören's hall closet as well, which he sometimes took grocery shopping, "when my ADHD can be arsed to remember to bring it," Sören said with an eyeroll. Dooku loaded the cart with the cardboard boxes labeled CHRISTMAS. Then Sören turned off the stereo and the lights and they were out, on the path back to Dooku's house next door.  
  
Dooku put on the classic rock station again when they got inside, but then Sören found one of the cable company's music stations that was playing all Christmas music and put it on to make things more festive. Dooku made hot chocolate, and he and Sören sat in the kitchen, with Sören staring at the ceramic bowl with the dwarf purple prickly pear cactus in disbelief.  
  
"I still can't believe you saved my art and you've been taking care of Álfhildur for me," Sören said.  
  
"...Álfhildur." Dooku raised an eyebrow.  
  
"That's her name." Sören gestured to the cactus with his good arm.  
  
Dooku facepalmed, laughing. Sören managed to smile too.  
  
Though Sören couldn't do much, he still wanted to do what he could, which involved deciding what hung where, and when the small fake Christmas tree was put up in the center of the mantle above Dooku's fireplace, Sören passed over ornaments to be put on the tree.  
  
Most of the Christmas decorations were fairly generic - solid-colored stockings, balls for the tree, the obligatory fairy lights - and some were odd. There were thirteen strange-looking gnomes in different poses. Among them, one had a bowl of porridge, one had a sausage, one had a leg of mutton, one had candlesticks.  
  
"Those are the Yule Lads," Sören explained.  
  
There was an evil-looking black cat, and a troll couple, male and female. "Those are Grýla and Leppalúði, the parents of the Yule Lads. They're cannibals who eat naughty children, they turn them into stew... and that's their cat, the Christmas Cat. He eats you if you don't get at least one new item of clothing for Christmas."  
  
Dooku raised an eyebrow. "That's... interesting." He frowned. "Do they teach that to children in Iceland?"  
  
"Jæja, I was scared shitless of them as a kid, it was great." Sören actually grinned. "It's no worse than Halloween here in the States, people dressing up as, like, Dracula, around kids, or letting their kids be Dracula."  
  
"I wouldn't know. I don't celebrate Halloween, either."  
  
Sören glared. "That's one of my favorite things about living in America, mate. You guys have some _ridiculous_ holidays."  
  
"Do they not have Halloween in Iceland?"  
  
"It's becoming more of a thing now, from what I hear, but it wasn't really a thing when I left. People are getting more into having parties in Reykjavik and whatnot. Anyway..." Sören took a few steps back, standing beside Dooku, looking at the mantle with the stockings hung, the fairy lights, and the Yule Lads, Grýla and Leppalúði and the Christmas Cat gathered around the little trimmed tree. "That's good."  
  
The next step was hanging a wreath with bells on the front door, and a swag of garland over each door in the house. There was actually a sprig of mistletoe in the box with the wreaths and garland, and Sören said, "Jæja, you should hang that up... between the kitchen and living room."  
  
"I..." Dooku frowned at it. _I want to kiss you, and I don't want to kiss you._  
  
"It's good luck."  
  
"I don't believe in luck."  
  
"Neither do I. It's still an old habit."  
  
Dooku hung the mistletoe, and as he was standing under it, Sören came over and there were a few seconds where Dooku thought Sören was going to kiss him and his mouth went dry, heart racing, stomach fluttering. But instead Sören booped his nose. Dooku blinked.  
  
Sören smiled, and walked into the kitchen.  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Monday, there was no school, as winter break had started. Dooku went to Krav Maga class and then took care of grocery shopping in the morning, and when he came back in the afternoon Sören was so startled by the door he dropped the book he was reading, and broke down crying. Dooku's first instinct was to go to him, to remind him "you're here with me. You're safe now."  
  
Then Beowulf climbed up on Sören, and Dooku let the cat soothe him as he put away the groceries.  
  
Dooku came back with egg nog, which he'd bought at the store for both of them. Sören's face lit up when he saw it. "_Takk_," Sören said.  
  
Dooku noticed then what Sören was reading - he'd given Sören carte blanche with his extensive library. Sören was reading one of the Earthsea series by Ursula K. LeGuin, and this made Dooku smile.  
  
"Ah, LeGuin," Dooku said.  
  
"Jæja, she's my favorite author next to Stephen King."  
  
Dooku raised an eyebrow. "Mine too."  
  
"Oh, jæja?" Sören held out his right fist.  
  
Dooku looked at it. "Er?"  
  
"You're supposed to..." Sören grabbed Dooku's hand, curled it into a fist, and then he bumped Dooku's fist with his fist. "There. Fistbump. We're nerd bros now."  
  
Dooku narrowed his eyes. "_Indeed._" _Millennials._ His nostrils flared before he sipped his egg nog. "Ah, this is better than I expected. I can put whiskey in it if you like though -"  
  
"_Takk_ but no thanks - I have to be very moderate in my drinking with the meds I'm on and I don't want to risk it while I'm still taking pain meds for the rib fracture, even though that's tapering down. Actually that was what I needed to ask you about - I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on Thursday and I'll need a lift there and to the pharmacy to get a med refill."  
  
"All right," Dooku said, nodding.  
  
"It's really routine, I see him once every three months for med management. He only fills my scripts for two weeks at a time, so I have to get refills every two weeks, but." Sören shrugged. "I've been stable on my meds for awhile. Though..." Sören made a face. "He's probably going to want to raise my anti-anxiety medication." Sören rubbed his beard nervously and looked down. "I shouldn't be boring you with all of this."  
  
"No actually, it's relevant while you're living here, in case you have a reaction or something."  
  
Sören frowned. "Seth gave me a lot of shit about being on meds. He was trying to make me go off them when he, ah, moved himself in. It's dangerous to quit cold turkey..."  
  
Dooku felt a flare of anger again. That also reminded him that he needed to go check to make sure Seth Robinson had left Portland - in addition to the hired thugs he had on standby, he'd hired a private investigator to monitor things, as well as do a background check to see if any dirt could be dredged up to use against Seth if he went to the police, and unsurprisingly there was.  
  
But first, Dooku felt the need to be reassuring. "That was heinous of him," Dooku said.  
  
Before he could go on, as if on cue, Sören's cell phone rang, and Sören froze, looking like a deer trapped in headlights. When Sören pulled the phone out of his pocket, he saw the number and swore. "_Skítur. Mömmuriðill hóru sonur..._"  
  
"Seth?" Dooku narrowed his eyes.  
  
Sören nodded, breathing harder.  
  
"Let it go to voice mail," Dooku said.  
  
Sören did, and a couple of minutes later Sören checked the voice mail.  
  
"OK, you little bitch," Seth's voice snarled. "I did what your new _boyfriend_ told me to do and I'm leaving the state, gonna go stay with my uncle in Florida for awhile. I don't need your new daddy kicking my ass again. And when he finally gets sick of you and your whiny, pathetic loser ass, well... look me up. I'll leave you alone till then. But mark my words, he won't want you for long. Nobody does, do they? Have fun, Sören. You pathetic little bitch."  
  
Sören was shaking, his eyes tearing up. He put the phone down and began to rock himself, staring off into space.  
  
Dooku came over and sat on the couch next to him. For a couple of minutes Sören just rocked himself, staring, shell-shocked, and then he broke down crying again. Dooku gently put an arm around him.  
  
Finally Sören looked at him and said, "You..." He swallowed hard. "You went after him?"  
  
Dooku wordlessly retrieved his own cell phone, went to the photo gallery, and handed the phone to Sören. "I roughed him up a bit, yes."  
  
"When was this? Where was this?"  
  
"Friday. I went to his job, made him get in my car, drove him out to the middle of nowhere, beat the hell out of him, made him take his clothes off, took his cell phone and wallet, and left him there to find his own way back to Portland with the risk of hypothermia, since as you know it was quite cold that evening. And I gave him an ultimatum - an even worse fate would befall him if he didn't do as he was told - and I had things in place to back it up. I'll be doublechecking with the PI that I hired to make sure he's really gone..."  
  
"_You hired a private investigator?_"  
  
"I did. Look, Sören, as you know, the law isn't really going to help you in this situation, so... I became the law. I did what I felt was necessary." Dooku set his jaw. "I'd do it again."  
  
With his good arm, Sören gave him a tight hug, sobbing. "Thank you."  
  
Dooku returned the hug - cock twinging again - and then he gently patted Sören. "On that note, I'm going to make a few phone calls."  
  
He did, and confirmed that Seth had quit his job at Apple and gotten an airline ticket to Orlando, Florida. When he came back and relayed that information to Sören, the dam broke and Sören cried even harder, curling up on the couch in the fetal position, or as close to it as he could muster with his injuries.  
  
"He's gone," Sören sobbed. "He's gone... he's gone... thank god.... thank god. _Hann er farinn. Guði sé lof. Hann er farinn. Guði sé lof..._"  
  
"He's gone now." Dooku felt tears burn his own eyes, wishing he could have made Seth go away long before this. "And now you're safe. It will be all right."  
  
Sören continued to whisper "_Hann er farinn. Guði sé lof,_" under his breath until the chant died down, and finally his eyes met Dooku's. Dooku reached out and took Sören's good hand.  
  
"All right," Dooku said. He wasn't one for spontaneity, but then, he wasn't one for houseguests either, something that had shaken up his usual routine. "We both could use another distraction."  
  
"Jæja, I'm sorry for crying so much." Sören made a face. "Seth's right. I really am pathetic..."  
  
"You're not. And it's fine, Sören. You need to cry. But I'd like to help you feel better." Dooku fought back the mental image of giving Sören a massage, one that would lead to kissing him everywhere... "You liked decorating yesterday, yes? Getting in the Christmas spirit makes you happy?"  
  
Sören nodded. "It reminds me of my mamma. She always went all out for Christmas, I guess it was her way of coping after my pabbi died. My aunt and uncle, after my mamma died and they took us in, they put up some nominal decorations but Christmas was an excuse to get drunker than usual, for them." Sören cringed. "Sorry. There I go being whiny again -"  
  
"You're not." And now Dooku saw how a beautiful, talented person like Sören could end up with such an asshole like Seth. "Would you like to go see lights in Portland this evening? Now that Seth's not there?"  
  
"Oh... that would be really nice."  
  
"We can go out to dinner. I'll treat." Dooku paused. "I'm not expecting anything in return." He left the meaning of that ambiguous, but he didn't want Sören at any time to feel like there was pressure or obligation for sexual favors. As much as Dooku was starting to long to take Sören into his bed, Sören's safety and recovery was priority here, and he couldn't feel safe and recover if he felt like Dooku was only helping him because he expected sex. Even if Sören had been less attractive, or female for that matter, Dooku would still want to help, because it was the right thing to do. Bullies like Seth needed to be knocked down.  
  
"All right. I should probably get sort of dressed up, then."  
  
That meant a shower, and when Sören was fresh from the shower and in his underwear, Dooku helped change his bandages again. It was torture, touching Sören's bare flesh, looking at his beautiful body - the soulful chocolate brown eyes, so sweet in their sorrow, looking at him like Sören was a lost puppydog and Dooku was his new owner. Dooku tried to keep it clinical, keep his touch chaste, nothing inappropriate. But even the most innocent touch was driving him mad with lust, and after Dooku helped Sören put on black trousers and buttoned up a black shirt, Dooku let himself in the bathroom and spent a bit longer there than necessary, giving himself some relief.  
  
_You are almost sixty-eight, not sixteen. And he is young enough to be your son. Stop this madness._  
  
Sören put on a black leather duster, which made him look a little tough, dangerous and sexy. Dooku donned his wool greatcoat and put on a fedora. They got in Dooku's Jaguar and listened to classic rock on the hour and a half drive north on I-5 from Corvallis to Portland. By the time they got to Portland the sun was setting.  
  
Dooku took them to the waterfront, and for a few minutes they sat on a bench and watched the sun fade into the Columbia River, a last blaze of gold amid melancholy blues, and a few streaks of rebellious orange and pink. It would have been terribly romantic if they were dating - Dooku thought about what it would be like to kiss those full, soft lips - but they weren't dating, of course. Though strangers might have mistook them for a couple with Sören leaning on his shoulder, and Dooku took his hand, a comforting gesture. A friend comforting a friend.  
  
They went to Salty's on the Columbia, which served surf-and-turf and had a nice view of the river. Sören's eyes gawked at the upmarket prices on the menu, but it had been why Dooku insisted on treating. They started with an appetizer trio of crab cake, coconut-crusted prawns, and fried calamari. After being reassured he could order whatever he wanted, Sören decided on the smoked steelhead which was local from the Columbia River, served with fingerling potatoes, snap peas, turnips, and pickled peaches. Dooku had the usual - not that he came here often, as dining alone in public was awkward - which for him was the seafood cioppino, served with grilled sourdough. He had a glass of pinot gris from Oregon, while Sören had a cranberry ginger limeade "mocktail".  
  
"I feel like such bad company," Sören said over their meal. "I should be asking you things about yourself, like how you ended up here in the States, how you got into teaching..."  
  
"It's all right, Sören. I'm too socially awkward to be offended." Dooku gave a small, rueful smile. "It's been a long time since I've gone out of my way to make friends, I think I've forgotten how."  
  
"Do... do you have any friends? Sorry if that's a stupid question."  
  
"Joaquin Gonzalez, the environmental sciences professor."  
  
"The longhaired hippie guy who drives the van?"  
  
Dooku nodded. "Qui-Gon, is his nickname. He used to be one of my students."  
  
"_Really._"  
  
"Yes. He majored in ancient history... and then he didn't. He switched his major. I wasn't pleased, initially - he had so much potential - but it was also my job as his mentor to support his choice anyway. And that paid off, because we became friends. I was best man at his wedding. We rather... fell out of touch, the last few years. He had personal tragedy and sank into a depression." Dooku didn't specify that it was Tahl's death, out of respect for Qui-Gon's privacy.  
  
"Oh." Sören frowned. "That's too bad. But you know, sometimes people with depression... you gotta be the one to chase them down." He nibbled on his fish. "That's what my brother had to do with me, when I was living with him in Toronto and I'd go into one of my depressive episodes and withdraw. There's the need for space and then there's just unhealthy isolating."  
  
"You lived in Toronto?"  
  
"Jæja, that's where I got my doctorate. Well... my second one."  
  
Dooku's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"I was in med school," Sören said. "I made it through school, then I was practicing as an intern... and I had a breakdown when I lost a patient around the anniversary of my mamma's death. I fucked off for awhile, and then my brother Dag, who's a scientist, had me go stay with him in Toronto, where he lives... but me staying with him was contingent on going back to school. He pushed me to get my doctorate, and, well, here I am. Teaching preserves what's left of my sanity. It's how I can still do art and make a reasonable living. Well... used to do art." Sören cringed. "Seth kind of destroyed that."  
  
"It's still there, Sören." Dooku looked into his eyes. "Nothing is ever ended. That fire is still in you." Dooku gave himself chills - it felt like the words came through him, as if it was himself but something more, like a higher or deeper version of himself. If he believed in such things. He wasn't really sure what he believed.  
  
"Well..." Sören looked down. "You say that, but... it feels gone."  
  
"It's not gone."  
  
Sören sipped his drink. "So now I _will_ ask about you, since I told you a bit about myself."  
  
"Parents were born in Romania, came to London after World War II. They were counts in the old country. I was... a disappointment. My father was a strict disciplinarian. My mother was dealing with what I now recognize as serious mental illness. They were unhappy with each other but they were especially unhappy with me. Boarding school was an escape, but I was bullied there, too. Teachers were the only people who were nice to me, and that stuck with me, and after I got my doctorate from Oxford that was what I decided to do with my life, how I thought I could make the most difference. Doing so across an ocean, away from my parents."  
  
"What do they think of you now?" Sören pursed his lips.  
  
"They don't, because they're quite dead. I lost them when I was on the young side - not as young as you, but in my thirties. My father had a few choice words to say after my graduation, namely that I wasn't 'a real man'. I was 'soft' for going into academia."  
  
"I really hate that 'real man' shit," Sören said.  
  
"Mmm, I know your generation has progressed on those views, which is nice to see, but in my generation... well... we have a lot to unlearn." Dooku sighed and sipped his wine. "I've been trying, with my decades of activist work, but I'm not perfect."  
  
"I'm sorry that your parents gave you such a hard time. Your parents sound like they were cut from the same cloth as my aunt Katrín and uncle Einar. My uncle Einar had a lot of that 'real man' macho thinking, and well..." Sören gestured to himself with his good hand. "Did not meet his expectations."  
  
"If 'real men' are like my father, I'm proud to not be one," Dooku said.  
  
"Change that to my uncle for me and... hear hear." Sören lifted his glass. "_Skál._"  
  
They clinked glasses, and drank.  
  
After their meal they got in the car. Dooku had a route planned of the commercial districts, which would be all lit up, as well as residential neighborhoods that had a reputation for putting on spectacular light displays. It was dark now, and for a few minutes they admired the view of the waterfront at night, watching in silence.  
  
"Why history?" Sören asked when they were on the road.  
  
"I was an avid reader as a child. Fictional worlds helped me escape. I got to see glimpses of history through them, and it piqued my curiosity. So I started reading about the history that inspired fantasy and science fiction, and found it just as interesting as the stories, if not moreso. And as I got older, and got into civil rights activism of different kinds, it wasn't just my intellectual curiosity, but a belief that those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. It's important for us as a species to celebrate what has made us great, going from the caves to the stars - the greatness of every culture, color and creed, what should unite us... and it's also important for us to understand how we failed, and try to do better. Things like the current state of US politics become even more disturbing framed through a historical lens, for example... there is nothing new under the sun. New boss... same as the old bosses. Knowledge is power, and history is a potent weapon that we _need_ if we will ever truly make progress as a society."  
  
"Wow. Shit. That's deep." Sören laughed. "I like you."  
  
Dooku smiled, his face flushing. "I like you too, Sören."  
  
After a moment of silence Dooku asked, "How did you get into art?"  
  
"Same as you? It was an escape. I wanted to become a doctor, after I found my mamma's dead body, I wanted to save lives... but I couldn't handle it when a patient died. So I had a bit of an existential crisis..." Sören rolled his eyes. "I've got the right name for it." He laughed sheepishly.  
  
"I got that reference," Dooku said. "You were named for Kierkegaard?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Also for my great-grandfather, who was... kind of looney tunes, in a good way. He was a farmer but he, like, built a hot-air balloon and sailed around Iceland on it. He was always inventing weird shit, like he was trying to make a bicycle that was also a pipe organ." Sören laughed and Dooku smiled indulgently - he loved that laugh. "My mamma loved her grandfather very much. But jæja, there goes my ADHD again. My mamma studied philosophy and Kierkegaard was one of her favorites."  
  
"Your mother sounds very interesting."  
  
"She sang all the time. She embroidered. She liked to read philosophy, mythology, poetry. She encouraged me drawing when I was small. And when I had my breakdown... that was what I went back to, the art that had given me comfort in my childhood. And it resonated with other people. People need beauty in their lives. And I see the beauty in everyone, and everywhere, and when I paint people, and places, I try to bring that out. The deeper truth beneath the surface. The magic. I don't just paint the person, or the place, I paint the soul. The spirit."  
  
"That, too, is deep." Dooku's stomach fluttered, and he felt like he had been hit in the chest, in a good way. His eyes burned.  
  
"I don't think too much about it, honestly. I just feel. I see, and I feel. And I try to give that to the world. I got myself through the darkest times with that - it isn't so bad to be here. Still trying to find the goodness around me." Sören closed his eyes and gave a shuddery sigh. "Now you might understand why I feel like I've lost it."  
  
Dooku did understand that, after the horror of Seth, and that was just what he knew about; Dooku got the sense it was far worse than he knew. But again he said, "You haven't lost it... because that goodness, that beauty, is still inside you."  
  
Sören's jaw trembled, and Dooku quietly handed him tissues from the glove compartment. But what he really wanted to do was pull over and kiss Sören's tears.  
  
Thankfully, for both of them, they were coming up on the first round of Christmas lights. Trees and buildings strung with warm golden-white fairy lights, even sculptures made of lights - angels, snowmen, reindeer, penguins, polar bears. Sören's breath caught as Dooku slowed down and Sören watched from the car window, taking it all in.  
  
Year after year, seeing holiday displays had made Dooku sad, had been a painful reminder of his own loneliness at Christmastime. But now, seeing Sören's wonder at the lights, Dooku was glad for it. He, too, could appreciate their beauty now.  
  
And nothing seemed more beautiful or bright than the man sitting next to him.


	15. Someone To Watch Over Me

**Someone To Watch Over Me**

  
  
  
Though school was out for winter break, there were still a few events happening on campus for the holiday season. One was a staff holiday party, which neither Dooku nor Sören were up for attending this year. But there was one thing that Dooku was keen on attending - in November, before this fiasco started, he'd bought a ticket for a concert in December. Mark Lowry, the music theory professor, would be performing some songs on the harp, followed by an orchestra with a choir. Now that the date got closer, Dooku neither felt right about attending by himself and leaving Sören at home, nor did he want to cancel. After making a series of phone calls, he managed to acquire another ticket to take Sören.  
  
Sören wasn't thrilled about getting dressed up, but he seemed less thrilled with the idea of disappointing Dooku, who'd gone to so much trouble to get a ticket for him. So on the night of the concert, Friday the sixteenth of December, after Sören showered, Dooku helped him put on a suit and tie, the one suit Sören owned.  
  
As usual, the sight of Sören's bare chest, pierced nipples hard in the cool air, and buttoning up his shirt, touching him, had Dooku nearly breathless by the time Sören was all dressed, even though he'd tried very hard to control himself. Dooku himself was in a suit and tie, with a waistcoat. Sören played with the lapels of Dooku's suit once he was dressed. "You look very dapper," Sören told him. "You always do, but this seems more special than the suits you usually wear to school."  
  
"You look distinguished yourself," Dooku said, though "distinguished" seemed like an odd way of phrasing it. Part of what he found attractive about Sören was precisely that Sören was a bit of rough, but he couldn't deny that Sören looked sharp in a suit, and there was something about the contrast of Sören's wild mane of curls and the neat, put-together suit that was appealing.  
  
"I feel all... civilized and shit," Sören said.  
  
Dooku's nostrils flared. _Millennials._ "Indeed. Let's go appreciate civilization, Sören."  
  
Sören's black leather duster over his suit was even sexier to Dooku, for some reason, whose face was on fire as he put on his wool greatcoat, his gloves, and finally his fedora. He and Sören walked to the Jaguar, and drove in companionable silence out to the campus, with Sören watching the stars in the evening sky.  
  
Sören and Dooku sat together in one of the middle rows. Dooku cringed as a family with small children came in to occupy the seats nearest them - not that he minded children usually, but it had been his experience time and again that things like concerts and theatre were not really places to bring small children.  
  
Sören turned off his cell phone. _At least there's that,_ Dooku thought to himself, and turned off his as well. They looked at each other and Dooku gave a small, tense, awkward smile - the proximity of Sören's body, and the mental images of him shirtless, were getting to him. Sören threw off a tremendous amount of body heat, and Dooku could feel himself sweating a little. Which made him think of getting hot and sweaty with Sören in a different context.  
  
_Stop that. He is young enough to be your son._  
  
Arguing that with himself was increasingly not working.  
  
Dooku felt another surge of libido when it was time for the concert to begin. Sören was one of the most beautiful specimens of male that Dooku had ever laid eyes on, and Professor Mark Lowry was another. He, too, was someone who cleaned up nicely, wearing a black Brooks Brothers suit with a black waistcoat, white shirt, dark red tie, and also had the appealing contrast of distinguished and wild, with the long waves of raven-dark hair cascading down the middle of his back. Mark's clean-shaven face was proudly chiseled, almost haughty, with startling light grey eyes and thick eyebrows that gave him an intense, brooding, sultry look, and the wire-rimmed glasses that he wore only seemed to enhance his attractiveness.  
  
Mark became even more beautiful as he sat at his war harp and began to play, starting with Pachelbel's Canon in D. That was followed by "Largo" of the Winter Cycle of Vivaldi's Four Seasons. "Waltz of the Flowers" by Tchaikovsky was particularly superb. Then the classic "Silent Night". That was when Dooku noticed Sören was blinking back tears, the song stirring something in him. Dooku took Sören's hand, and quietly offered his handkerchief. "_Takk_," Sören whispered, taking it, dabbing at his eyes, trying very hard to contain himself.  
  
"Silent Night" was followed by a harp cover of "Watermark" by Enya. Now Dooku got teared up as well, while Sören wasn't even pretending not to cry, and he and Sören shared the handkerchief.  
  
That was Mark's last song. He got up and bowed. Dooku stood up to applaud - he was reserved about things like standing ovations normally, but Mark had done a masterful job, playing with feeling. Sören also stood to applaud.  
  
The orchestra and choir that followed performed Handel's Messiah Part 1. It was enjoyable, though Mark's harp opening had been more impressive to Dooku. And the small children seated near them began to act up, as Dooku had feared they would. Still, all in all, the music was relaxing - what they needed.  
  
"That was nice," Sören said on the way home.  
  
"It was," Dooku said.  
  
"You're nice for taking me." Sören patted him.  
  
"I'm glad you appreciated it."  
  
Sören smiled, and Dooku's breath caught.  
  
They didn't go straight home - still in the festive spirit, Dooku hit a Starbucks drive-thru while it was open. Dooku didn't care for their coffee, but they both got hot chocolate, which was nice to have while he took them on a drive to see the Christmas lights displays in Corvallis. Some of the radio stations were playing Christmas music now, and Sören grinned and turned it up when "Santa Baby" by Eartha Kitt came on.  
  
"God, I love Eartha Kitt," Sören said.  
  
"_Really."_ This surprised Dooku, with how young Sören was.  
  
"Jæja, she made me question my sexual orientation and realize I'm a little bi." Sören gave a throaty chuckle. "My favorite song of hers, though, is 'My Heart Belongs To Daddy.'" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
_Dear god._ Dooku's cock strained uncomfortably in his suit trousers.  
  
Then "All I Want For Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey came on and Sören turned up the radio even louder, belting out the song in his husky, smoky tenor, like a R&B singer.  
  
_I don't want a lot for Christmas  
There is just one thing I need  
I don't care about the presents  
Underneath the Christmas tree  
  
I just want you for my own  
More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true  
All I want for Christmas is you, yeah.  
  
I don't want a lot for Christmas  
There is just one thing I need  
And I don't care about the presents  
Underneath the Christmas tree  
  
I don't need to hang my stocking  
There upon the fireplace  
Santa Claus won't make me happy  
With a toy on Christmas Day  
  
I just want you for my own  
More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true  
All I want for Christmas is you  
You, baby_  
  
When the song was over Sören blushed, and ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Sorry," he said. "Got carried away."  
  
"It's fine. You have a lovely voice." Dooku meant it. He was also strangely turned on - he realized that after seeing Sören become an automaton through the horror with Seth, a little life coming back to him was a pleasure.  
  
When the tour of the lights was over and they pulled in Dooku's driveway, they lingered for a moment before getting out. "I had fun," Sören said.  
  
"I enjoyed myself," Dooku said. He didn't want to say "I had fun too" because Dooku didn't do fun.  
  
Their eyes met, and for an instant Dooku thought about asking Sören on an actual date, wanting to take him to another concert, or the theatre, or a ballet, perhaps. Even just to the movies to see whatever latest thing kids these days were into - Marvel or something or other - would be fine. He was getting used to having Sören around, and he was having a harder and harder time fighting his attraction.  
  
But he didn't. _Don't be ridiculous,_ Dooku chided himself. _He not only just got out of an abusive relationship and doesn't need to think you 'white-knighted' simply to get down his trousers, but he'll think you're too old._  
  
So he looked away, and got out of the car. And when it was time to help Sören out of that suit that he looked so delicious in, Dooku's hands trembled slightly as they undid the buttons of Sören's shirt, watching the cloth peel away and expose his bare skin. The sight of Sören's pierced nipples...  
  
Dooku went to bed alone, as he always did, and though Beowulf purring away beside him usually helped him to sleep, there was too much heat and electricity coursing through his body. Not able to stop thinking of unbuttoning Sören's shirt... the hard pierced nipples... the word "Daddy" sounded in that breathy, smoky voice of his with that accent.  
  
Dooku let go of the pillow he'd been holding and his hand slipped down beneath the covers. _Here we go again,_ he thought to himself as he reached to soothe what ached.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Dooku's sleep was interrupted by a scream from the living room.  
  
Dooku bolted out of bed, heart racing. All he could think of was that Seth had somehow evaded the tail on him - Dooku's private investigator had been calling with reports to confirm Seth was actually in Florida - and was back in Oregon and had broken in.  
  
But it was just the ghost of Seth, with Sören sobbing on the edge of his bed.  
  
"Bad dream?" Dooku asked. Sören nodded. "About _him_?" Sören nodded again.  
  
Even though it was past two in the morning and Dooku was tired and wanted to go back to bed, Sören needed care. For a moment he considered inviting Sören into his bed, but he knew his body would respond to the proximity of Sören laying there, and the last thing he wanted was to make Sören feel threatened. Even just holding him, right now, felt like it would be dangerously close to crossing a line. But he did spend a moment rubbing Sören's non-injured shoulder, telling him, "You're safe now. He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore," while he thought of what to do.  
  
He decided to make hot chocolate, since Sören liked that, and it would be something distracting and grounding. Then he decided it was time to finally just bite the bullet and give Sören the gift he'd picked up at Powell's City of Books in Portland and had yet to give because after buying it he worried Sören would find it childish and stupid. As water boiled, Dooku went to the closet in his room, where the shopping bag was sitting, and he came out.  
  
"This is an early Christmas present," Dooku said, handing it to him.  
  
"Nicolae, you didn't have to get me anything -"  
  
Dooku gave him a stern look. "Open the damn bag, Sören."  
  
Sören did. Dooku realized then that in the chaos of everything happening he'd forgotten to take out the Ursula K. LeGuin books he'd bought for himself, that he hadn't read yet - _The Beginning Place_ and _Always Coming Home_. Sören's face lit up and he squeaked with happiness, and Dooku chuckled - they could be Sören's, he didn't mind getting copies for himself again.  
  
At the coloring book of mandalas, and crayons, Dooku braced himself. And Sören said, "Aaaaaaaaaawwwwwwww." He smiled, and Dooku saw tears in his eyes. Sören flipped through the book. "The mandalas are really pretty."  
  
"I thought it might be... stress-relieving... to color those in." Dooku shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling a bit anxious. "I hope you're not offended -"  
  
"No, Nicolae. It means a lot to me that you wanted to give me something to try to help me get back into doing art again." Sören's smile was sad now.  
  
"Your art is beautiful, and worth creating. I know the mandalas aren't on the same calibre but I thought maybe..."  
  
"I know." Sören nodded. He put the book and crayons down and held out his arms.  
  
Hugging him was comforting - it felt so good to hold someone and be held, skin hunger Dooku didn't even know he had - and a torture all at once. Dooku swallowed hard as he pulled Sören close, not able to keep from petting his curls.  
  
"You've been so good to me," Sören said when they pulled apart. "Like a guardian angel, watching over me."  
  
_You're an angel, as beautiful as you are._ "Someone needs to. And... you deserve it. You have a precious gift, it would be a shame for the world to lose that." _You are precious._ Once again, Dooku wanted to ask Sören on a date... ask Sören into his bed, to make love, to love Sören the way he deserved to be loved. Every nerve in his body was screaming for release, not just for sex, but to _mate_ with Sören.  
  
_He'd see it as a pity fuck, and one from an old man past his prime. He may not have been insulted by the coloring book but he would be insulted by your offer. And you should be ashamed of yourself._  
  
Dooku sat up with Sören for awhile, drinking hot chocolate, and Sören calmed down as he pet Beowulf. When Sören was ready to go back to bed, Dooku tucked him in, and stayed for a moment. Just before he could to his own room, he heard Sören crying again.  
  
"Ohgod I'm sorry," Sören sobbed. "You need to go to bed, I know I'm a pain in the arse..."  
  
"You're not."  
  
"I'm afraid to go back to sleep." Sören frowned in the darkness. "I keep having nightmares about Seth. This one was so bad..."  
  
"Oh, Sören." Dooku's own eyes teared up, hurting for him. Wishing there was something he could do.  
  
"I know you say he's gone and he can't hurt me anymore and maybe that's true, but there's a part that isn't true. Because he's still inside my head." Sören wept some more. "I just want to rest..."  
  
Dooku patted Sören's back. "Would it help if I stayed out here with you till you fall asleep? Sat in the recliner?"  
  
Sören sniffled. "It might. I don't want to keep you up, though..."  
  
_My dear, you already keep me "up"._ "You're a guest. I am the host. It is my duty to see to your comfort."  
  
But before Dooku sat in the recliner, he went to his room, retrieved Beowulf who had returned to his owner's bed, and came back with the cat, putting him on the couch-bed with Sören. Sören reached out with his non-injured arm to stroke the cat, who purred, and Dooku sat in the recliner, quietly meditating, stealing glances at Sören in the darkness, the dim glow of the kitchen nightlight shining in. He watched as Sören's tears subsided and at last he was breathing slow and deep, and when he started to snore a little, Dooku knew he was back asleep. The tiny snoring was adorable.  
  
"Sleep well, dear one," Dooku whispered on his way out.


	16. I'm Not In Love

**I'm Not In Love**

  
  
  
It was Wednesday, December twenty-first... the winter solstice. It was also Dooku's sixty-eighth birthday. He'd never made much of a big deal about his birthdays, and indeed, didn't see the point of mentioning it today, planning on going the day without saying anything about it at all.  
  
Sören was getting to that point in his injury recovery where he wasn't quite healed but he was also too restless to stay home all the time, and with school being out for winter break he had little to do besides read, color the mandalas, and watch TV, which was getting tedious for him. Dooku liked spending time with Sören but he also didn't take offense if Sören wanted to do something on his own, as had been usual for most of Sören's life, and most of Dooku's as well. And Dooku understood that the emotional part of Sören's recovery was dependent on him going out by himself and not worrying about whether or not he was going to run into Seth somewhere, the assurance that Seth was long gone. So when Sören wanted to take the bus into town that afternoon, Dooku didn't object, and busied himself tidying up around the house.  
  
Sören was gone for close to five hours, enough for Dooku to consider calling his cell to ask if he was all right, but he decided he'd give it more time, not wanting Sören to feel smothered or patronized. Dooku didn't understand why he worried like this - Seth was gone, and Sören was a grown man who could take care of himself. There wasn't much that could happen with him taking the bus around town. He knew he cared for Sören - he truly appreciated having a friend again - but this seemed to go above and beyond basic caring and concern for a friend, this anxiety with Sören being gone for a few hours, the worst-case scenarios playing out in his head and the sheer panic of something happening, the devastation at the prospect of losing him.  
  
He didn't like that feeling at all. It wasn't just that panic was unpleasant to have, but he wasn't used to being so _attached_. It bordered dangerously close to obsession.  
  
Sören did return, of course, before Dooku gave in to his urge to call. Sören had taken a backpack and a small metal cart, and they were loaded up. Dooku saw bags from a department store as well as a couple of supermarket bags.  
  
Dooku helped Sören unload the supermarket bags. Sören had gotten more egg nog - both regular and pumpkin spice varieties. He'd also splurged on a tray of Christmas cookies, a tin of Danish butter cookies, and last but not least, a German chocolate cake.  
  
"I know you like to bake, and you're good at it," Sören said, "but, I don't know, I wanted to treat you, get you something. At least this way if you get in the mood for holiday baking, we've got cookies covered and you can make other things."  
  
"That was very thoughtful of you."  
  
"And the cake was just because. We're adults, we don't need an excuse to eat cake." Sören gave a small smile.  
  
"Indeed. Though, it is my birthday today."  
  
It slipped out before Dooku could stop himself. Sören's eyes widened and he made a squeak, and then he gave Dooku a little shove. "You bastard! Why didn't you fucking tell me?"  
  
"I... usually don't do much for my birthday, and it's been even less since I turned sixty-five." Dooku sighed. "A reminder that I've lived this long and don't have much to show for it."  
  
That, too, slipped out before Dooku could stop himself. He immediately cringed. While he had compassion and sympathy for others, he despised self-pity in himself. And he'd tried as best as he could to make something of himself, be the change he wished to see in the world, make a difference in the lives of his students; he'd tried to live as fulfilling of a life as he could without a partner, without too many friends. There were legitimately aromantic and asexual people who were quite content to be on their own. Unfortunately, Dooku was not one of them and always felt a sense of loss. He was usually better at masking it, telling himself he didn't truly need anyone. And then Sören had become a houseguest, and Dooku felt his ice thawing more and more all the time.  
  
"God, listen to me." Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "There are people dying, I'm upper-middle-class sounding like my life is such a hardship. Forgive me, Sören."  
  
"I get it, Nicolae." Their eyes met. "And I hate this 'people are suffering more so I can't acknowledge my own pain' game that we play in this world. We're both two lonely people. I'll own my heartache. It's OK if you own yours."  
  
Dooku had the sudden urge to grab Sören and kiss him, and did not. Once again, he didn't want to make the younger man feel unsafe, especially not when Sören was staying under his roof, he didn't want Sören to feel pressured into bed with him to continue the respite he needed.  
  
"Anyway," Sören said, gesturing to the cake, "I didn't know it was your birthday today but it's funny how these things work out, já?"  
  
"Indeed." Dooku nodded.  
  
"So happy birthday. How old are you now?"  
  
"Sixty-eight."  
  
Sören's eyes looked him up and down. If it had been anyone else, Dooku would have wondered if he was being "checked out", as the youth called it, but Sören had otherwise given no indicator of being interested and he was fresh out of an abusive relationship so Dooku wouldn't expect such interest. Nonetheless, Dooku's face flushed.  
  
"You look good for your age," Sören said mildly, putting the egg nog in the fridge.  
  
"Thank you. I try to take care of myself."  
  
"It shows." Sören looked away, staring into the fridge.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Then it was Saturday the twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve. In the morning over breakfast, Sören asked, "Nicolae, can I ask you to do something for me?"  
  
"Hm?" Dooku paused before taking a bite of egg.  
  
Sören leaned back in his chair, took a sip of coffee, and sighed, looking wistful and nervous all at once. "I'd like to go to midnight Mass tonight."  
  
Dooku raised an eyebrow and put his fork down. "You didn't strike me as particularly religious," he said, reaching for his tea.  
  
"I'm not." Sören shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "I'm Lutheran on paper - most Icelanders are, that's the state religion - but I'm, ah. What was the word you used about not being Orthodox anymore?"  
  
"Lapsed," Dooku said.  
  
"Jæja." Sören nodded. "That's the word. Lapsed. I have a bit of an allergic reaction to organized religion, I think. But when I say my mamma went all out for Christmas, she took us to midnight Mass too, and it's something comforting to me. The baby Jesus story is a nice story, even if a lot of his so-called followers are arseholes."  
  
"That much I agree on," Dooku said. "I believe it was Gandhi who said, 'I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.'"  
  
Sören clapped and made fingerguns. "Yes. This." Sören nodded and shoveled more eggs in his mouth. "That basically sums it up right there. Anyway, when I was out on the bus on your birthday, the route took me past the Lutheran church a few streets away... which is having services tonight at 11 PM. And it's near the Starbucks. We could go grab coffee, and you can drop me off at Mass, or come with me -"  
  
"I'll attend Mass with you," Dooku said. He made a little chuckle into his tea, then.  
  
Sören waited, and Dooku explained, "I was, in fact, _very_ religious when I was younger. I wanted to be a priest and my parents discouraged me, telling me I needed to marry and have children - which as you know, didn't happen."  
  
"Actually I didn't know that," Sören said. "You've never talked about any past relationships or partners and I try to not assume."  
  
"I see." Dooku took a deep breath. "Well, I've never been married, nor had children. And though my piety continued even after my parents talked me out of the priesthood, I still ended up giving up the faith altogether when I was in my early twenties. I thought that if there is a god, or gods, they must be sociopaths. I lean towards agnosticism, but sometimes I can't help if humanity has summoned to itself a rather malevolent alien host, preying upon its prayers." He decided once again not to bring up his sexual orientation as part of why he left the Orthodox Church.  
  
"Humanity needs different gods, or no gods at all," Sören said. "At most, maybe personal gods... like a personal Jesus. Like how Renaissance artists had a wealthy patron looking out for them. One god takes a few people here, one takes a few there, and people have to stop arguing over people doing religion wrong because nobody does religion the same way."  
  
"Hm, yes, that would be better than the current way of doing things."  
  
"And I mean... the gods humanity worships now... with the exception of Christ, none of them have been human. They don't get what it is to be mortal and frail and vulnerable and go through the utter shitshow that this world is sometimes. So a better set of gods would need to understand that." Sören polished off his eggs, and then sat back in his chair with his coffee. "I think that's why the baby Jesus story doesn't give me hives. Whether you think he's real or made up or you just don't know... he was one of us, for awhile. My people in Iceland, our conversion was pretty bloodless. I think my distant ancestors got sick of Odin wanting sacrifices and war all the time, this Jesus guy got it that they were tired of that shit and they wanted a nice god who didn't demand so much. Unfortunately, people these days seem to forget all of that. Christmas is the one time of year when they remember, hey Jesus was a man too, let's be nicer to everyone."  
  
Dooku was pleasantly surprised by the depth coming from a man he'd judged for listening to Snoop Dogg.  
  
"I'm sorry." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Here I am getting all philosophical first thing in the morning... and I fucking hate mornings." Sören gave a sheepish grin.  
  
"Don't be sorry. I enjoy your company." Dooku smiled. "I appreciate having someone around who _thinks_."  
  
"I think too much." Sören's smile became a frown, and he looked down. "My head isn't a fun place to be a lot of the time."  
  
"Mine isn't, either. But we can take a break from that today. It's a holiday."  
  
"Then on that note..." Sören got up, went to the counter where the tray of Christmas cookies was sitting, and loaded a few on a plate. He came back and proferred the plate to Dooku.  
  
"Cookies for breakfast." Dooku narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Why the hell not?" Sören nibbled on a cookie, looking naughty and innocent all at once, a combination that made Dooku feel that start in his loins.  
  
Dooku spent the day baking - the traditional figgy pudding and plum pudding that he remembered from his youth in Great Britain, a batch of brownies, a loaf of _cozonac_ and _colaci_ from his Romanian heritage. He also looked up recipes for _piparkökur_ and _spesíur_, wanting to do something nice for Sören.  
  
Sören _screamed_ at the Icelandic cookies, and Dooku couldn't help smiling, feeling a warm glow that he'd made Sören happy. It was adorable that such a little thing made him so exuberant, as well as somewhat heartbreaking, wondering what kind of privation Sören had experienced to never take these things for granted.  
  
"Are they good?" Dooku asked as Sören sampled the Icelandic cookies, warm from the oven.  
  
"So good," Sören said through a mouthful of cookie. "The only way this would be more awesome is if you'd also made a batch of _lakkrístoppar_."  
  
"La... what?"  
  
Sören slowed down. "_Lakkrístoppar._ It's got, ah, licorice? And chocolate. It's meringues."  
  
Dooku made a mental note of that. "Perhaps next year." He was surprised that he was already thinking of having Sören over for Christmas again next year.  
  
Sören gave him a sweet smile. "_Takk_, for this. This... it means a lot."  
  
Dooku patted him. "I'm glad you're happy."  
  
They sat on the couch together and, with Beowulf between them, watched a few movies as they waited for it to get late enough to get ready and head out - Sören wanted to watch _Elf_ and _Christmas Eve On Sesame Street_, and Dooku conceded, but only if Sören watched _It's A Wonderful Life_ with him.  
  
Sören got choked up during _It's A Wonderful Life_, at the scene where George was about to jump off the bridge. "This is reminding me of when I wanted to kill myself," Sören whispered when Dooku noticed his tears.  
  
"Oh." Dooku didn't want Sören to be sad on Christmas. "I'm sorry, we can stop if it's triggering you -"  
  
"No, it's OK."  
  
And then Dooku found himself putting a hand on Sören's arm. The simplest of touches, but one that nonetheless felt like playing with fire. "I'm glad you're still here," Dooku said softly.  
  
Sören put his hand on Dooku's hand.  
  
When the movie was over, before Sören and Dooku were about to get ready to go out, Sören said, "Hey, Nicolae, shoo for a minute."  
  
Dooku gave him a puzzled look.  
  
"Just... shoo." Sören made a shoving gesture.  
  
Dooku waited, and then Sören called him back out. He saw his shoes, sitting next to Sören's Doc Martens. They were filled with candy... and had small potatoes in them.  
  
"The Yule Lads were here," Sören explained, with an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all. "They decided we were both good _and_ naughty, so we got candy for being good and potatoes for being bad." Sören handed Dooku a box. "Here."  
  
"Sören, you... didn't have to get me anything -"  
  
"Open the fucking box."  
  
Dooku opened it, and out came a brand new fedora. There was nothing wrong with the one he usually wore, but...  
  
"Now the Christmas Cat can't eat you, because you got a new item of clothing," Sören said.  
  
Dooku chuckled. He decided he would give Sören his gift now rather than waiting until tomorrow. He went off to the hall closet, and came back with a large box, neatly gift-wrapped.  
  
It was hundreds of dollars worth of watercolor, acrylic and oil paints, brushes, cleaner, a palette, canvases of different sizes. Oil and chalk pastels with pastel paper, since Sören had mentioned offhandedly he worked in that medium sometimes. A set of Prismacolor markers.  
  
Sören screamed and laughed and sobbed, and hugged Dooku tight, who returned the hug even as every nerve in his body was screaming with sexual frustration.  
  
"I... Nicolae. I don't... this is too much," Sören said.  
  
"No, it's not." Dooku shook his head. "I wanted to replace everything that rotten filth threw away. I probably forgot some things."  
  
Sören broke, weeping. Dooku handed him tissues.  
  
"You've been so kind to me," Sören said.  
  
"You deserve kindness. It is as you said earlier - this time of year should remind us of how fragile mortal existence is, and inspire us to be kinder to one another. But beyond abstract concepts of virtue... _you_ deserve kindness. I've grown very fond of you." _Too fond._  
  
"Same here."  
  
Their eyes met, and held. Dooku's heart skipped a beat. _I'm not in love. Really. That's not what this is._  
  
"I still feel like I don't deserve it," Sören said. "Like I'm damaged goods." He frowned, looking down at the floor. "My uncle used to yell at me all the time growing up, telling me I was 'soft'... and I'm still soft, still too sensitive for my own good. But there's an _edge_ to me that didn't used to be there, like a knife. That rough, sharp prickliness that you saw when we, you know, were feuding with each other."  
  
Dooku found himself going to his bookshelf, and taking out the large hardbound book where he'd pressed two roses from the last bloom of his rosebushes out front before the cold weather set in. He took one out now - still vibrant in color, still a lingering touch of fragrance - and brought it over to Sören. "This is a token of friendship," he said, handing it to him. "You are a lot like this rose. Soft, delicate... full of thorns. And no less of a beautiful soul for having them. The thorns protect the rose. It's OK for you to have that edge to protect yourself. I understand why."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped. He got teared up again. "_Takk_," he husked. "I will always cherish this."  
  
_A rose full of thorns... a rose made of fire. My fireflower._ Dooku's face burned, not liking where his mind just went. _"My" fireflower?  
  
No. I'm not in love. This is madness._  
  
"We should get ready now," Dooku said, his own voice husky with emotion.  
  
Sören was mostly past the point of needing help with getting dressed and undressed, but he still wanted Dooku to help with his tie, with Sören wearing the same suit-and-tie he'd worn to the concert at the university. Just that little bit of close contact was agony, and it didn't help when Sören's gaze raked over him again and Sören said, "You look sharp," taking in Dooku's own suit and tie, with waistcoat, as it disappeared under the greatcoat. _He's just saying that to be polite,_ Dooku thought to himself bitterly as he put on his new fedora. Which he would now wear all the time and retire his old fedora, since Sören gave him this.  
  
_Aren't you sentimental._  
  
They took a little drive to see the lights around town before stopping at Starbucks to have hot chocolate. They drank in companionable silence - the coffee shop was almost abandoned at this hour on Christmas Eve, and there were Christmas songs playing in the background, with Dooku not even minding the newer pop ones so much.  
  
When they went out to the car together, breath steaming in the chill of the night, Sören said, "How's the hat? Warm enough?"  
  
"Yes," Dooku said.  
  
"I feel kind of like an arse because that was all I got you, I had a feeling that you'd yell at me if I splurged too much, even though I really wanted to -"  
  
"You are absolutely correct," Dooku said, getting in the Jaguar. "I have everything I need, and almost everything I want." Dooku noticed his choice of words then and how telling that was - for he did not, in fact, have everything he wanted. He watched Sören get in the car, face burning. "I would have told you to donate that money to charity in my name or the like."  
  
"And yet, you spent money on me."  
  
"That was different."  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Don't feel bad, Sören. I like the hat. And..." Dooku gave a small smile, secretly delighted by the weirdness of Icelandic Christmas traditions. "You've seen to it so the Christmas Cat won't eat me."  
  
Sören threw back his head and laughed. "Jæja, that's the most important thing."  
  
"Indeed." Dooku chuckled as he turned on the ignition. "Though I do wonder at those Yule Lads not able to reach a verdict on whether we're naughty or nice."  
  
"Jæja, funny how that works out," Sören said as the Jaguar pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. "We might have to find an elf, though I suspect he'd tell us we were very naughty." Then Sören's eyes widened and he sat up taller, tapping Dooku as he pointed out the window. "Holy shit, is that Mark Lowry?"  
  
It was indeed Mark Lowry walking down the street, wearing a scarf and a leather trenchcoat, no hat. Hair worn loose, flooding to the middle of his back. Dooku's face burned even more and his mouth went dry, but he still beeped and pulled over anyway, rolling down the window. "Professor Lowry. Do you need a lift?"  
  
Mark stopped in his tracks and gave a small smile and shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'm just going for an evening stroll."  
  
"All right. As you know, it's rather cold this evening, so I thought I would offer."  
  
"I appreciate it, but no, the air helps clear my head." Mark looked at Sören in the passenger's seat; Sören blinked slowly and tried to smile. "Where are you guys off to at this hour?"  
  
"I'm taking Professor Sigurdsson to midnight Mass," Dooku said, as Sören rolled his eyes at being called "Professor Sigurdsson".  
  
"Oh. O-OK." Mark looked a little surprised at that. "Well, Merry Christmas."  
  
"Thank you, Professor Lowry. Happy Christmas to you," Dooku said.  
  
"_Gleðileg jól_," Sören said.  
  
Mark gave a little wave and resumed walking. Dooku watched him again, feeling a strange wistfulness he couldn't put his finger on, and when he waited at the streetlight, he and Sören watched Mark cross the street.  
  
"He's probably alone on Christmas too," Sören said, sounding a bit sad.  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"I feel kind of bad. Like we should pull over again and drag him off with us or something."  
  
"Sometimes people want to be left alone, even on Christmas."  
  
"I suppose. Just..." Sören frowned. "Doesn't seem right."  
  
"It may not seem right to you, but if he is alone for this holiday, it's likely by choice."  
  
"Yeah." Sören sighed and nodded. "That makes me think of all the people where it isn't by choice."  
  
"Indeed. And it seems these days for all the progress of civilization, the world is a harsher place to live in than it ever was before."  
  
"Mm." Sören looked out the window - they were getting closer to the church.  
  
The service was much different from what Dooku had been accustomed to with Romanian Orthodox liturgy, enough that it almost felt like another religion altogether rather than a different interpretation of Christianity. Nonetheless, the message of the divine made mortal, in humble beginnings, a reminder to show compassion to all, was comforting and familiar, and the hymns were pleasant. Sören seemed to be half-asleep during the service and Dooku wondered with some amusement if he was in fact falling asleep, at this hour, and then he realized, when Sören's eyes focused, that Sören looked like he was deep in meditation... or remembrance.  
  
Dooku wondered then what Sören's life would have been like if his mother hadn't died.  
  
After the Mass was over, the pastor - a young blond, Nordic-looking man who looked to be not over forty, if even that - greeted everyone at the door with smiles and handshakes. When it was Dooku and Sören's turn, making their way through the throng, the pastor gave them that look that let them know they weren't going to escape his attention.  
  
"Merry Christmas," the pastor said. "I hope you enjoyed the service."  
  
"The service was lovely," Sören said.  
  
"Yes," Dooku said. "Happy Christmas."  
  
The pastor grinned. "It's good to see some new faces, I hope you'll keep coming back!" Then, when he noticed Sören and Dooku looking a little bristly, he quickly added, lowering his voice, "Just so you know, we're an LGBT-affirming church - Christ loved everyone, and so do we. We perform gay weddings here and everything, if you guys want a wedding in the church..."  
  
"Oh, that's great," Sören said, making fingerguns with a big cheesy grin, face turning bright pink. He began ushering Dooku along, almost dragging him. "Merry Christmas!"  
  
Sören facepalmed on the way to the car. Dooku's face was on fire again too. They said nothing about the pastor's assumption that they were a gay couple as Dooku got on the road, driving perhaps a little too fast away from the church.  
  
They rode in awkward silence most of the way back - it got unbearable enough that Dooku put on the radio for Christmas music, not wanting to think about the pastor's assumption, or why he would assume that.  
  
_Is it obvious..._  
  
Dooku's mouth went dry, his heart racing. _I'm not in love. That's foolishness._  
  
"So, Nicolae, I was thinking," Sören said as they were a block away.  
  
Dooku's heart continued racing. Dooku braced himself, wondering if Sören was going to bring up what the pastor said. If Sören was going to ask about his own sexual orientation.  
  
If Sören was, perhaps, going to ask about his feelings. Where they stood.  
  
_Oh, shit._ A knot formed in the pit of Dooku's stomach.  
  
It was none of that. "So I was thinking about what you said earlier... how hard the world is nowadays. And, well... I've had a shite year, but I'm still alive, I made it after everything... and I'd like to put things in perspective. Would it be out of line for me to ask if we can go to Portland tomorrow? Volunteer at a homeless shelter, or a soup kitchen, something like that?"  
  
If they had been in a relationship - which they were not - it was the sort of thing that would make Dooku love Sören even more. _But I'm not in love._ "We can do that," Dooku said.  
  
And that was what they did on Christmas Day, driving down to Portland to feed the homeless and offer a bit of kindness and compassion in a world that seemed to increasingly have none. Dooku got past his usual dislike of socialization with strangers for the day, and his fondness for Sören grew all the more as he watched Sören come out of his shell for a little while to read to people, play Uno with some homeless veterans, convince a paranoid old woman the food wasn't poisoned.  
  
Dooku wrote a check for the shelter on his way out, and they took a detour to see the lights in Portland before getting on the highway. Sören sang along with the Christmas songs on the radio on the way back, and Dooku thought he might like to make this a yearly tradition.  
  
And he thought of what the pastor had said last night, assuming they were a couple. He had the briefest glimmer of wondering if he and Sören would in fact be a couple in a year's time. The thought of Sören living with him for good, his mate...  
  
Flooded with warmth, he shoved those thoughts away as quickly as he could. _I'm not in love._  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Monday, January second, 2017, Sören finally went back to his house next door. He still wasn't completely healed, but he was able to do more things for himself now and he didn't want to inconvenience Dooku, even though privately Dooku thought Sören wasn't an inconvenience at all.  
  
They had dinner together, and then Dooku helped Sören carry everything over. Then Dooku lingered, having tea with Sören in the living room.  
  
"Thank you for everything," Sören said. "You were a great host."  
  
"You were a fine houseguest," Dooku said. "I enjoyed having you, despite the circumstances."  
  
Sören looked at the calendar. "Can't believe it's been almost a month since everything." He made a face. "And school starts in a week, on the ninth."  
  
"Mm." Dooku raised an eyebrow. "So you're going back to school when it starts, then."  
  
Sören nodded. "Jæja, my job's not that strenuous, and... I need to go back, if that makes sense. I need to start doing things again."  
  
"I understand." Dooku still felt a pang. "Well, as you know, I'm right next door if you need anything. And... I mean what I say about us being friends. It's not a term I use lightly. You're welcome to visit. I'd like to get together with you -"  
  
"I'd like that too. And actually, I was going to ask if you'd mind driving me to the rental car place on Wednesday or Thursday, so I can have something while I look around for the best deal on a new car..."  
  
"All right." Dooku nodded. "How would Wednesday work?" It was the sooner of the two dates... _so I can have the excuse to see him sooner._ Dooku swallowed hard, face burning.  
  
"Wednesday's fine, and we can do dinner, maybe?"  
  
"That sounds like a plan."  
  
Dooku tried not to miss him too much - though Beowulf moped a bit, hanging around by the window and giving Dooku forlorn looks, meowing as if to say "when is my other person coming back?" And though Dooku tried to distract himself with other things... the gym, Krav Maga, reading, cooking... Sören strayed back into his thoughts often.  
  
Wednesday couldn't come soon enough, and Dooku felt almost like an excited puppy when Sören got in the Jaguar. They went to the car rental and after browsing and getting Dooku's opinion, Sören got a respectable Volvo sedan, which he drove home. Dooku noticed Sören was driving very slowly, and when Sören got out of the car in front of their houses, he looked a wreck.  
  
"Are you all right?" Dooku asked as they headed into his house.  
  
"I think so. Just..." Sören took a few deep breaths. He was shaking. "Nerves, I think."  
  
Considering the last time Sören was behind the wheel he'd been in an accident - one that further had traumatic association thanks to Seth - Dooku couldn't fault Sören for having a panic attack. He hoped it was something Sören could get past, knowing Sören's pride. Sören looked shell-shocked as he sat on the couch stroking Beowulf, as Dooku made dinner.  
  
After dinner Dooku walked Sören back to his own house, and when Dooku returned home it felt very, very empty. He had a glass of wine and went to sleep early, waking up in the middle of the night feeling cold even though the heat was on, and when he climbed back in bed he hugged one of the pillows tight, imagining it was Sören. The thought of curling up with Sören in his arms soothed him enough to get back to sleep, though when he woke up in the morning he had a somewhat dirty, guilty feeling about it.  
  
_I'm not in love._  
  
Dooku worked out his frustrations at the gym, going harder than usual. Sweat-soaked when he got back, he took a shower right away, and came out to the sound of his cell phone ringing. A towel around his waist, Dooku picked it up to see who it was, and when he saw it was Sören he answered right away.  
  
"Nicolae." Sören's voice was raspy. "Um... I have a strange request."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
"Can I come over and do laundry?"  
  
"Now?"  
  
"If you're not busy."  
  
The towel was tenting at the mere sound of Sören's voice, the thought of Sören here with him, naked... what his body had looked like when Dooku helped him undress weeks ago...  
  
_Fuck._  
  
"I'm not busy, no. But... laundry?"  
  
"Jæja, ah. My, ah, washing machine is broken." Sören gave a nervous laugh. "And I could drive to the laundromat but you're right next door -"  
  
"Oh, yes, no need to bother with that, then. Can you give me ten minutes?"  
  
Dooku put on khakis and a button-down shirt - as delicious as the thought of being naked with Sören had been, the reality was that Sören likely wasn't interested at all. Once again, he didn't want to make Sören feel harassed, triggered, unsafe in any way.  
  
And sure enough, Sören looked upset as he walked in the door, like something had triggered him before he came. Dooku's washer and dryer were hooked up in the pantry, and Dooku made coffee while Sören threw a load in the washing machine.  
  
"_Takk_ again for letting me come do this on such short notice."  
  
"You're welcome. I'm sorry that your washing machine is broken. I bet it will be a pain to replace..."  
  
Sören nodded, looking down, not meeting his eyes. "Jæja, I have to. Uh. Talk to the landlord about that, I guess."  
  
Doing laundry led to Sören having dinner with him again, and then Dooku helped him carry the baskets back home. And when Dooku was alone again, he got out a book, but he couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking of Sören, with those sad, beautiful brown eyes. Wanting to make him smile.  
  
Wanting to make him feel better, give him relief...  
  
Wanting to unbutton Sören's shirt, the way he had when Sören was recovering from the accident and needed help undressing... this time, kissing each inch of exposed flesh. Kissing him everywhere. _Let me kiss it better, sweetheart._  
  
Kissing him _everywhere_ indeed, taking Sören into his mouth, tasting him. Giving Sören relief, escape, taking him away from the pain, into pleasure.  
  
Sören underneath him, arms around him, panting, Sören begging _more, more_ as Dooku sheathed himself and thrust into him. Holding back his own release, taking care of Sören, focusing on his needs.  
  
As Dooku thought of making love to Sören, he stroked himself, taking a longer time than usual, playing out the fantasy as long as he could. But at last his desire was too strong, and when Sören climaxed in his fantasy, he let go too, crying out, "Sören, _Sören_, my love, my love..."  
  
It hadn't been the first time he'd brought himself off thinking of Sören Sigurdsson, or even the tenth, but it was the first time he'd called out Sören's name when he climaxed.  
  
And it was the first time he had spoken those forbidden words. He could no longer deny it, shaking from more than just his orgasm.  
  
_I_ am _in love with Sören._  
  
He knew, as well, that this feeling wasn't new, and he'd been sitting on it for at least a few weeks. Denying it.  
  
But that love would no longer be denied. The question was no longer _do I love Sören, do I want to be with him_ but _what to do about it?_


	17. Damage

**Damage**

  
  
  
School was back in session on Monday, January ninth, and Dooku couldn't remember ever being more relieved at the end of a vacation. He'd had too much time to think, and _feel_, agonizing over Sören. He liked his job, generally - he found it rewarding and somewhat therapeutic to educate - but now it was a necessary life preserver for his sanity, giving him something to do other than pine away for Sören and feel like he had nothing to offer the young man, in the sunset of his life.  
  
He had gotten out of his own head enough that he was in a reasonably pleasant mood when he got home from the campus, his mood made more pleasant by Beowulf greeting him at the door, and the smell of the roast he had going in the crockpot. This evening was going to be quiet and peaceful, he was determined to get through it angst-free.  
  
And then his cell phone rang. He thought about ignoring it, but his gut instinct told him he better take it in case it was important. And it was, indeed, Sören's number. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach fluttered as he accepted the call. "Hello, Sören."  
  
"...Nico?" Sören started to sob.  
  
Dooku blinked, taken aback not just at Sören shortening his first name into a nickname - no one had ever done that - but also, Sören not even bothering to hide that he was crying.  
  
"Yes, dear?" The word just slipped out. Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting to crawl under a rock and die.  
  
"N-Nico... ah..." Sören let out another wail. "Can you... can you come get me?"  
  
"Where are you?" Dooku's heart started racing, fearing the worst. "Are you all right?" A pause as his blood turned to ice and his head spun, remembering the way Seth had hit Sören in front of him. "Did _he_ come back?" _I will fucking_ kill _him this time._  
  
"N-no... no, it's not S-Seth." Sören snuffled, and whimpered.  
  
"Sören. Are you in danger? Are you hurt? Sick?"  
  
"I'm more or less OK, just..." Sören let out a shaky sigh. "I'm at Starbucks. The one near the Lutheran church. I had a panic attack driving home, I tried to get back in the car, and I... I can't drive." Sören broke down, bawling. "I can't drive, Nico, and I didn't want to call an Uber, I'm so ashamed..."  
  
"Oh, Sören." Dooku felt for him, a tight ache in his chest. "I'll be right down, all right?"  
  
Dooku drove there as fast as he could without breaking the speed limit. He recognized Sören's rental Volvo in the parking lot, and Sören was inside the Starbucks, nursing a hot chocolate, calmer than he was before but there were still tears in his eyes and a distraught look on his face. The pain in those sweet brown eyes broke Dooku's heart.  
  
"Nico," Sören called out, waving to him.  
  
"Sören." Dooku went to him. "Sören, dear. Are you almost ready to go?"  
  
"Jæja. But, ah... my rental is out there and I... I can't drive it." Sören pulled out an inhaler from his trenchcoat and took a puff. "Been panicking so bad I had to use this." He looked down. "I was hyperventilating when I pulled in here."  
  
"OK." Dooku sat at the table across from Sören. "I can call a tow truck, or if you give me the keys and wait here, I can drive the car to your place, then come back here, pick you up, and drive you home."  
  
"I can wait a bit if you drive it."  
  
Dooku did that, and when he came back to Starbucks he was chilled enough that he wanted a warm drink, so he got himself a hot chocolate and sat down with Sören. Sören was quiet now, pensive, and Dooku let him have his mental space before they got in the car.  
  
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Dooku asked when he pulled in front of his house. "I have a roast going, potatoes..."  
  
"Normally I would say yes but I'm so humiliated that I just..." Sören facepalmed. "I need to hide, tonight."  
  
"Sören, you don't have to be ashamed of yourself around me. You were in a serious car accident, one that totaled your vehicle and gave you injuries you're still recovering from. And it was an accident caused by that monster of an ex of yours, so it's quite understandable you'd be triggered."  
  
"Logically I know that, but, you know, I can hear my uncle screaming at me to 'man up' and all that shit." Sören scowled.  
  
"I would drag you inside and make you have dinner with me, I don't like you isolating out of shame you shouldn't have, but I get the sense you were made to do a lot of things you didn't like doing, not so long ago."  
  
Their eyes met, and then Sören looked away, nodding. "Seth was a bit controlling, já."  
  
"Would you like a ride to and from work tomorrow?"  
  
Sören nodded again. "I was going to ask that."  
  
"That is what we'll do." Dooku patted Sören's shoulder, and immediately regretted it - just that small touch sent a frisson of hunger through his body, cock stirring. _Dammit._  
  
  
_  
  
  
Dooku took Sören to and from the campus the next day, and the day after. Sören wondered if taking a couple of days to "chill" would help him be able to try again, but on Thursday morning he only got two blocks before he called Dooku to let him know he was going to need a ride. Dooku had the rental towed back to Sören's place while they drove to school, and after they got back, Dooku drove the rental back to the company, with Sören in the passenger's seat, and called an Uber to take them home.  
  
Sören tried valiantly not to cry in the Uber, but Dooku could see the utter defeat on his face, the heartbreak in his eyes. And Dooku, himself, tried not to cry for Sören. It took him every ounce of his restraint to not take Sören into his arms and just hold him, let Sören fall apart on him, knowing Sören's pride was such that he didn't want to cry in front of a stranger. As it was, Sören was still humiliated from having broken down at Starbucks earlier that week.  
  
"Come for dinner?" Dooku asked.  
  
"Not tonight." Sören stared at his Doc Martens boots. "Once again, it's another night of 'I feel less than human, nobody come near me.'"  
  
"I don't want to force you, but isolating yourself when you need emotional support isn't the healthiest thing to do." _Which of course is why you've been nearly friendless for the majority of your life, old man._ Dooku's face burned, fighting off the cringe at not taking his own advice. But at least he was admitting it now - that he needed some kind of companionship in his life.  
  
Sören ran a hand through his curls. "Jæja, _I know._" His jaw set. Sören pulled out his inhaler and puffed on it, his hand shaking. "I just... can't deal with anyone feeling sorry for me right now -"  
  
"Goddammit Sören, enough with your pride. I care about you. This isn't pity. And it's not weakness to need a friend." _Much as I've told myself that over the years._  
  
Sören facepalmed, and then he looked away, before his eyes met Dooku's. "All right. Just... not tonight. I'm a fucking wreck."  
  
"Tomorrow. I'll make you a nice dinner, we can relax."  
  
That night, alone at his place, Dooku wondered if he should tell Sören that his caring was more than just that of a friend. That there was no pity, only the urge to take care of the man he loved.  
  
_No pity, only desire._  
  
And that, too. It had been a long time since Dooku had experienced lust, and now his libido was making up for lost time in a way that surprised him and even unnerved him a little at his age. His mind began to play the old Marvin Gaye song, "Sexual Healing", thinking of comforting Sören with his body, and - for a little while - taking away that fear and shame and giving Sören ecstasy.  
  
On Friday morning Dooku drove Sören to school as usual, and on his break, Dooku got in the car and drove to a nearby drugstore. For the first time in his life, Nicolae Dooku bought a package of condoms and a tube of lubricant, feeling sheepish as he went to the counter, trying very hard to not make eye contact with the cashier, but he couldn't help but notice the young woman was giving him an incredulous look, like she couldn't believe someone his age would need them. And he found that mildly irritating. He was used to people assuming physical frailty at his age, and took a bit of pride in defying expectations with his ability to hit the gym a few times a week, his Krav Maga classes, occasional hiking and even motorcycle riding when weather permitted. He had participated in marathons when he was younger and he couldn't do that anymore, but otherwise age had not slowed him down much. Yet, he saw people decades younger than he was who were in poor health, so incredulity at the stamina and vitality he had approaching his seventh decade of life was not so offensive. This, though... Dooku bristled, and ended up glaring at the cashier as he snatched the small shopping bag on his way out.  
  
Dooku realized as he drove back to campus that while it was a good idea to be prepared, and his break had been his only real chance to do that - he wasn't about to buy condoms and lubricant on the way home with Sören in the car - he had now set himself up to ruminate the rest of the day. By the time classes were over and he and Sören were both ready to go, Dooku was thoroughly "psyched out", as the kids called it, feeling no small amount of anxiety in the car with Sören next to him, like an awkward teenager going on a first date, and the night had barely started. For that matter, it hadn't even been established that it was a date. It was still officially two friends meeting for dinner.  
  
The menu that evening was steak and fillet of sole, with a tossed salad. Sören pet Beowulf and zoned out to the TV as Dooku cooked, and when dinner was ready Sören walked to the table, mouth open when he saw what Dooku had made.  
  
"Well, this is fancy," Sören said.  
  
Dooku lit candles. "I thought it would be nice after the week you've had to have a good meal and some relaxing ambiance." He gestured to the wine bottle. "Glass of wine?"  
  
"Just one," Sören said, nodding.  
  
Dooku poured them both a glass.  
  
"Thank you for this," Sören said a few bites into his food. "You're an amazing cook." Their eyes met. "And an amazing friend."  
  
Dooku raised his glass of wine.  
  
Sören sipped his own wine and then he said, "Especially for driving me around. I kind of hate asking you to be my chauffeur. I hate the fact that my anxiety after the accident is too strong to drive anymore, which is humiliating, feels like a defeat..."  
  
"But it's understandable. You were traumatized."  
  
Sören looked down.  
  
"If you had been paralyzed after the accident, couldn't walk, anyone who asked you why you couldn't get over it and just start walking would be an utter arse, yes?" Dooku raised an eyebrow. "It's the same principle at work with your mind. You tried to get over it. It's not something that can be gotten over. You can't help it."  
  
Sören rolled his eyes. "I still hate it. And I mean, I hate all that macho crap."  
  
"So do I."  
  
"But it's like... it's not even about being 'a real man' or not. I. Fucking. _Hate._ Being dependent on other people. Especially after what happened with Seth. I don't ever want to be in a position where someone has power over me ever again. Even something like letting someone drive you... well... you've heard horror stories of hitchhikers, even of, like, people taking Uber and their Uber driver doing, ah, bad things."  
  
Dooku nodded solemnly.  
  
"There's a certain amount of trust involved in letting someone drive you around." Sören nibbled on his fish. "I appreciate that I can trust you."  
  
"I'm glad I've earnt your trust."  
  
Sören nodded, nibbling on more fish. "My trust isn't easy to come by, after... what happened. But you proved it many times over." Their eyes met. "I still can't believe you went after him. You took a real risk doing that." Sören sipped his wine. "For me."  
  
_I did it because I love you._ Even then, before he'd admitted it to himself - Dooku knew it, now. His rage had been directly tied to his love. Seth had hurt what was _his_.  
  
"So my anxiety's already been through the roof," Sören continued, working on his fish, "but it would be so much worse if I had to call Uber or ask someone I barely know to drive me around. And I feel kind of bad about asking you, not just because I don't want to be dependent on other people on principle, it makes me feel fucking _helpless_, but I don't want you to start resenting me for it, feeling like I'm taking advantage of you for a ride to or from school -"  
  
"Well, I don't," Dooku said. "And Sören, not just to and from school, but anywhere you need or want to go." A pause. "Within reason, of course." That last sentence was more a formality, not wanting to seem too desperate - Dooku knew Sören could call at two in the morning and if he wanted to go to, god forbid, Denny's, he would take him. He'd grumble about being woken up, but he would move heaven and earth for Sören Sigurdsson, whether or not Sören rejected him romantically.  
  
Dooku's mouth went dry... that moment was getting closer, when he was going to finally say it, and see what happened. He tried to keep outwardly calm, even as his stomach was turning cartwheels.  
  
"_Takk._" Sören smiled. "That's kind of you. I'll give you gas money -"  
  
"I don't need it -"  
  
"Please let me salvage the least little bit of my pride, Nico."  
  
Dooku once again blinked at Sören calling him "Nico" - it had been understandable when Sören was upset and rather incoherent, but now... And yet, he was warming to it, at least when Sören called him that. It sounded delightful in his accent.  
  
_Sören could talk about bowel movements in his accent and you'd still find his accent charming. You're just hung up._  
  
Dooku exhaled sharply before he took a sip of wine, trying desperately to steel his nerves.  
  
"You know, we don't even have a word for 'please' in our language," Sören said. "It's something I had to learn when I left Iceland."  
  
"I see." Dooku narrowed his eyes. "I still don't think it's necessary for you to pay me, when you live so close by..."  
  
"Like I said. My pride, damnable to you that it is, it's why I'm still fucking alive after, well, everything." Sören grimaced. He cut his steak and took a bite. "Especially after this last round of bullshit with Seth."  
  
Dooku sighed. "What you endured was horrific, Sören."  
  
Sören looked away. "I feel like such damaged goods, Nico." Sören looked down, put his utensils down, had a sip of wine, and then he folded his hands primly on the table, frowning a little.  
  
Dooku braced himself, wondering what Sören was going to follow up with. Heart racing.  
  
"Seth raped me," Sören said. "Not once. Repeatedly."  
  
Dooku gasped. He knew that the physical abuse from Seth was probably worse than what he'd seen, but knowing that Seth was sexually abusing Sören, too...  
  
Dooku remembered one of the times he'd heard Seth yelling at Sören. "When he said you used to lie there like a dead fish..."  
  
"That was because he was forcing himself on me and I just wanted it to be over and done with. It wasn't sex. It was rape." Sören closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.  
  
Dooku's heart sank. His fists clenched. "I wish I had bloody well killed him," Dooku growled. "I let him go because I said death was too good for him, I wanted him to live with the nightmares of me attacking him the way you live with yours, but..."  
  
Sören sipped his wine. "Yeah," he sighed.  
  
"Sören." Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt like his entire world was crashing down around him. There was no way he was going to be able to tell Sören how he felt tonight, in good conscience. That would have to wait awhile. Probably months. Sören needed space to breathe, to recover. He'd already had concerns for some time about not wanting Sören to feel unsafe or triggered around him, and now those concerns were doubling down. As much as he wanted to be with Sören, the young man's safety came first.  
  
And oh, the _horror_ of what Sören had endured. He wanted to weep. He now understood the lamentations in the Bible, rending hair and clothing, sackloth and ashes, screaming at the heavens. He would tear his own heart out and bleed to death to undo what had happened to this beautiful, sensitive man.  
  
"I can't go to the police," Sören said. "As much as it sickens me that he's out there walking around free and he might do it to someone else. Because when you go to the police to report rape in this country, they treat you like a criminal. I was rather promiscuous when I lived in Toronto - that'll be used against me in court. I'm an immigrant, when anti-immigrant sentiment is high and running higher all the time, and Seth could make up some shit about me wanting to use him for a green card or something. Not to mention potential homophobia in the court system and just... no." Sören shook his head. "It'll be traumatic to try to prove what happened to _maybe_ get the vote of other people to put his arse away and I just... I can't. Maybe that makes me a coward..."  
  
"No, Sören. I understand." Dooku blinked back tears.  
  
Sören sat back in his chair, buried his face in his hands, and cried. Dooku desperately wanted to get up, take Sören into his arms... and he held back. Lately, even little touches had been setting him off, making him harden. He didn't need that poking at Sören when Sören was crying on him about being raped.  
  
He was, indeed, going to have to avoid hugging him for the foreseeable future. He didn't want Sören to feel threatened, when he'd already been through too much...  
  
And so it was that after they watched a movie together to unwind - _Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan_, which seemed like a strange choice after their conversation, but then there was nothing that wouldn't be strange somehow - Dooku walked Sören to his door and they lingered, Sören looking at him with those sweet puppydog eyes like he expected a hug, but Dooku couldn't. He didn't want his body to respond inadvertently and scare Sören... and touching Sören was agony for him, when he would want more.  
  
There were no fantasies that night, except one of just holding him. Eventually, Dooku knew he'd be having lustful thoughts again, and he would take care of them when they happened, biding his time until Sören seemed in a better place to handle the news that his very dear friend wanted to be more than just a friend. But until then... he was a gentleman. And tonight all he felt was gentleness, wishing with all his heart there was something he could do to make Sören feel better. Even just a little better.  
  
He was half-tempted to call the private investigator, get on a plane to Florida, and finish what he'd started. But murder was messy and there was a much higher risk of getting caught, too many loose ends. He couldn't be much use to Sören if he was behind bars or on the run from the police. Contracting a killer came with its own set of problems, above and beyond the problems of mercenary thugs who would just beat Seth into a wheelchair.  
  
Beowulf hopped on the bed and began to knead on Dooku, purring. Dooku stroked the cat, and let himself dream of a life with Sören, and cats, where they would at last have peace in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in seeing how things could have turned out differently if Dooku did in fact tell Sören of his feelings tonight, please refer to my fic [_Lead Me On_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039821).


	18. I Will Follow

**I Will Follow**

  
  
  
The weekend passed and Dooku took Sören grocery shopping on Saturday; Sören came over to do laundry again on Sunday.  
  
As Sören had a load in the washer and in the dryer, he and Dooku played chess - a game that Dooku was surprised Sören knew how to play, and enjoyed, but Sören explained, "It's a big deal in Iceland. There's not a whole lot to do on those long winter nights except play games. Read." He gave a small, mischievous smile. "Drink and fuck."  
  
Dooku's face burned - he'd attempted to keep his libido at bay the last couple of days but there it was again, thinking of what it would be like to spend the night making hot, passionate love with Sören. Dooku scowled intently at the chessboard.  
  
"Thank you, again, for letting me do laundry at your place," Sören said, taking a sip of hot chocolate.  
  
"You're welcome. Has your landlord given you an estimate of when the washer will be fixed?"  
  
Sören shrugged. "Who knows." Sören looked down and rubbed his nose.  
  
Dooku got the distinct impression then that Sören's washing machine wasn't broken at all. From what he knew about the way Sören's house was set up, his washer and dryer were in the basement, whereas his own were in the pantry. Dooku wondered if Sören was trying to avoid going in the basement, and if it had something to do with Seth. He decided that since Sören wasn't normally in the habit of lying - quite the opposite, Sören was blunt to a fault - and it seemed that he was uncharacteristically making up a story over this, he was doing so out of pride, and it would be a blow to what was left of Sören's _damn pride_ to call him on it. He would let Sören keep pretending, if that was what Sören needed to do to preserve his dignity, or what he thought was preserving his dignity, anyway.  
  
"So, ah, Nico." Sören met his eyes then. "I have something to ask you."  
  
Dooku perked up. He didn't dare hope that his feelings were returned, that maybe Sören would be the one to ask him on a date, sometime, but anytime that Sören said he had something to ask, now, he still did a little dance internally. And he hated that he was doing that even now, feeling pathetic, like a lovesick teenager.  
  
"Tomorrow's Martin Luther King Day," Sören said, "and campus will be closed."  
  
"Yes." Dooku nodded, and took one of Sören's pawns. "Do you have plans?"  
  
"Possibly?" Sören cocked his head to one side. "Back when we were first getting to be friends, before shit hit the fan... you invited me to go to Cannon Beach with you, grab a bite to eat at Tillamook." Sören bit his lower lip. "You think we could do that?"  
  
"We could. As you know, it's winter now, and winter is coming even stronger later this week -"  
  
"I know nothing about winter, Nico. No, I didn't spend the first twenty-two years of my life in the northern part of a country named after ice or anything. Nope, not me."  
  
Dooku glared. Sören stuck his tongue out. That made Dooku's mind go places about what, exactly, Sören could do with that tongue.  
  
"Anyway, it won't snow on Monday, if the weather forecast is true," Sören said. "But if you don't want to go -"  
  
"Oh no, I think it would be nice. The beach shouldn't be crowded on a winter day - I'd be surprised if anyone was there besides us. I think the beach is lovely anytime of year, I've been many times during the colder months." In his mind's eye Dooku saw Cannon Beach - a big part of why he stayed in Oregon. The Oregon coast spoke to his soul. "I'm just surprised to find a kindred spirit in that regard. But maybe I shouldn't be."  
  
"No, maybe you shouldn't." Their eyes met. "I think we're kindred spirits in more than we realize." Sören looked down at the chessboard, and now he took one of Dooku's pawns. "Like... what's that saying, how does it go? 'Like brothers from another mother.'" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
"We are brothers in heart," Dooku said. But if that was the case, his feelings for Sören were sin. A shiver went down his spine.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The drive to Cannon Beach was close to three hours one way, but worth it for the scenic view on the way there. They listened to classic rock and sometimes Sören sang along, sometimes he just zoned out, watching the snowy winter forest out the window.  
  
Just the trip there was relaxing and just what they needed. They were both hungry as they got closer, and Dooku took the exit to bring them into Tillamook to the famed Tillamook Creamery. He was intending just to go to the restaurant, but Sören wanted to take the tour of the cheese factory itself, which was open to the public.  
  
"I've been wanting to do this for awhile now, but, like, Seth never wanted to. He thought it was lame," Sören said. "'That's a stupid idea for a date'," Sören said in an imitation of Seth's voice.  
  
Dooku's heart skipped a beat, but of course Sören couldn't be insinuating they were on a date, not even when Sören took his arm. Dooku wouldn't have gone on the tour to watch the cheese being made of his own volition, but here was Sören dragging him along, and unlike Seth, he wasn't annoyed - amused, rather.  
  
"You lead, and I will follow," Dooku chuckled as Sören pulled him.  
  
And as someone who had a lifelong love of learning, Dooku did find it somewhat interesting. As a lover of history, Dooku thought of the way food was made over the ages. The way cheese would have been made in simpler times, without the technology and equipment there was now. He liked artisans who kept the older ways alive, continuing to craft things by hand. And though Tillamook was wholly modern, there was still a feeling of hominess to it as the company prided itself on being Oregonian, a product of Oregon farm country.  
  
Sören had grilled cheese and tomato soup at the restaurant, which seemed rather simple, but Sören explained grilled cheese was his favorite food. Dooku put that information on file mentally, as he had the Tillamook Madame sandwich.  
  
Dooku was correct in his assumption that the beach would be deserted on a day like this; it was just he and Sören on the beach this afternoon. The sky was a steel blue and the shore was a mix of snow and sand; Haystack Rock was capped with frost, and blocks of ice floated in the choppy sea.  
  
Sören and Dooku walked along the shore at low tide, taking in the serenity of the landscape, the ice-kissed salt of the sea breeze. After the way last week had been, this was exactly what both of them needed.  
  
Sören picked up a pebble and flung it into the ocean, watching it skip and ripple before it sank. "I've always loved coming to the sea," Sören said softly. "When I watch the waves I'm reminded that no matter what, life goes on."  
  
As much as touching Sören was torture now, as he pined away, Dooku couldn't help but put a hand on Sören's arm. "Yes."  
  
"I fucking hate platitudes," Sören said, looking out to sea. "One of the reasons why I hate going on Facebook, even though my family's on there so I'm obligated, is because people always spam with those fucking 'motivational' pictures." His fingers made air quotes. "You know the ones, like _You have to look through the rain to see the rainbow._ Or my _faaaaavorite_," Sören made a face. "_Sing like no one is listening. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like nobody is watching._"  
  
Dooku also made a face, and a noise, and Sören chuckled.  
  
"_Everything happens for a reason_ is one I've always despised, myself," Dooku said.  
  
"Jæja, fuck all that shit," Sören said. "Fuck all that positive thinking... if I could just smile my way out of trauma and pain, I would. But nonetheless... the sea has always been a healing place, for me. I burn, Nico. There's a reason why a lot of creative type people - artists, musicians, writers - with bipolar disorder compare it to fire. And there's a reason why I have that water bird, too. The sea cools that fire, when I want to self-destruct." Sören closed his eyes. "You kept me from self-destructing, after the accident. After the rape. I would have said fuck it, given up once and for all..."  
  
Once again, Dooku wanted to take Sören into his arms. Kiss him. God, how he loved his beautiful, tragic rose.  
  
"You helped keep me going. And I'm going to keep on, as best as I can. I'm not going to let that bastard win," Sören said through grit teeth. "Not him, not my uncle, not anyone. The best 'fuck you' I can give them is to survive, somehow. But it's hard, some days. It is so, so, _so_ fucking hard."  
  
Dooku could hear the weariness in Sören's voice. And it seemed, for a moment, like Sören was old. Ancient, even, older than he was. A grief from before Sören was even born, the existential crisis of man, the fire of the spirit always threatening to be quenched.  
  
But here he was. "I know you feel at your most vulnerable, as of late," Dooku said, and Sören nodded. "But you are far, far stronger than you know. And you don't have to fight on alone. I am here for you. You have my friendship." _You have my love._  
  
"Brothers in arms," Sören said.  
  
Dooku found himself getting on his knees - the twinge of arthritis in the cold be damned - and he took Sören's hands in his, though even that small touch was too much, desperately longing to pull Sören down into the sand and kiss him until kissing was all that existed.  
  
"Whenever you need me," Dooku said, looking into his eyes, "as much as you need me. I am here for you." He echoed the words he spoke in Tillamook, this time less flippantly. "You lead, I will follow. Even unto darkness, I am in your service."  
  
Sören hugged him, and Dooku was glad he was on his knees, as his body tingled and his cock stirred. Sören rubbed Dooku's beard affectionately and his touch was like fire. When Dooku rose to his feet he took a few deep breaths, and was grateful as the high tide started to come rushing in, making them quickly move back out of the way lest their boots get a washing. The distraction made his body calm down, and he focused again on the sea as they resumed walking, the beginnings of sunset cutting gold into silver.  
  
"That's beautiful," Sören husked, watching the sky and the sea. "Holy fucking hell, I want to paint that." He took out his cell phone camera and took pictures.  
  
"Good. You should paint again."  
  
Sören laughed softly. "Wow. That's the first time I've said anything like that in... months."  
  
"That's a good sign, I think."  
  
"His hold is loosening over me just the tiniest bit, then. He fades... as the day fades." And then Sören recited the Robert Frost poem from memory, which was even more beautiful in his smoky, lilting Icelandic accent.  
  
_Nature’s first green is gold,  
Her hardest hue to hold.  
Her early leaf’s a flower;  
But only so an hour.  
Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
So Eden sank to grief,  
So dawn goes down to day.  
Nothing gold can stay._  
  
Dooku swallowed hard. _You are gold, my love._ Overcome by emotion and needing to not break down and cry, Dooku couldn't resist making the obvious quip, since the _Outsiders_ movie had come out when he was in his thirties. "Stay gold, Ponyboy."  
  
Sören threw back his head and laughed. It was so very good to hear him laugh, where his laughter itself seemed to cleave the sky with gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a picture of Cannon Beach at wintertime:
> 
>   


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lead Me On](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039821) by [verhalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen)


End file.
